


Sillage

by jihoonesque (syubear)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: F/M, Kim Mingyu - Freeform, Seventeen - Freeform, mingyu - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syubear/pseuds/jihoonesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>noun // a lingering scent a person leaves behind, the impression in space after something or someone has passed by</p><p>A Soulmate!AU where soulmates find each other through scent</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

###  **Part 1**  
Words: 3,270

At any moment in the day, we humans are surrounded by a mirage of scents. Scents of food, of people, of the new-clothes smell in department stores, of the pizza place down the street and the lingering perfume of passersby. Oftentimes we get so many stimulants that we get overwhelmed and we eventually learn to tune some out, recognizing and responding only to those out of the ordinary.

According to Jiwoo, though, science all goes to hell when you find The One. “You can tell he’s around when he’s within a mile radius,” she gushes, repeating the story for the millionth time, almost spilling her cup of coffee. “The smell just hits you, and oh, my God, Jihoon smells like a sunny spring afternoon spent in the park—”

“Alright, I get it, I get it,” you say, smiling placatingly to stop her before she goes on her god-knows-how-many rant about how Jihoon smells. You, for one, don’t think he smells like much besides the sweet cologne he likes to wear. In fact, like most normal people, you don’t think anyone smells like anything unless it’s B.O. or overpowering perfume.

Sometimes you wonder if you will ever find The One, as you stare at your friends and their soulmates, or whether you’re one of the rare cases that just don’t have a soulmate. Or maybe you were just too intent on other things in your life—finding a balance between work and studying is so hard that maybe you missed sensing The One when he passed. Or what if he was on the other side of the world? Is it even possible to find him then?

Jiwoo leans forward, setting her cup down. “I’m telling you, Y/N, you just need to get out more. Stop denying me shopping trips and just walk around! You’ll find him someday.”

You sigh, not in the mood for a pity party. “I’m busy, Jiwoo, you know that.” _Unlike you, I can’t afford to take days off of work all the time, nor do I have any inclination to._ Jiwoo is off work practically every other day, and the fact that she hasn’t been fired yet amazes you. Then again, that’s probably because you agree to fill in for her—secretly, of course, because she runs out of sick days too quickly, and the manager is never actually there anyway.

“Then make time, Y/N. You won’t get anywhere if you don’t try,” Jiwoo replies, rolling her eyes. At that moment, her phone rings, and you see the name Jihoon appear before she holds the phone, shooting you an apologetic glance.

“Go ahead, take it,” you say resignedly.

She picks up and turns to the side, murmuring into the phone. You can tell she’s trying to keep it short and quiet, since this was supposed to be a you-and-her night for old time’s sake, but it’s impossible to miss the gleam in her eye or the way her hands fidget as she struggles to keep her hands from moving animatedly the way she normally does when she talks.

Jiwoo finally turns around again to face you as she ends the call. “Sorry, he said he couldn’t find the bag of cocoa for hot chocolate. But honestly, I put it in the cupboard, he knows—anyway. Sorry.” She glances down at her thin white wristwatch. “Let’s go shopping.”

You groan. “Jiwoo, you know I can’t afford—”

“Then we can go window-shopping,” she says, exasperated. “Whether you like it or not, Y/N, I’m dragging you around today. We are not going to stay in your house the entire night. You do that enough.”

There is no denying this girl. “Alright. Fine. Let’s go.”

Jiwoo drives the two of you to the nearby mall, chattering on about some new thing Jihoon has done that she’s currently obsessed about as you stare out the window. She made a good point; you’re often so busy that you can’t make time for yourself, so it’s nice to finally relax and appreciate the setting sun. The months have been passing by so quickly that you hadn’t noticed the days getting longer, but now it’s past seven and the sun is still out.

As the two of you walk in, you spot a clothing store displaying dresses and skirts that catch your eye. Despite yourself, you tug on Jiwoo’s hand, leading her into the store as she points out certain outfits. “Y/N, look at this dress,” she exclaims, pulling a blush-pink dress off the rack. “You would look gorgeous in this!” Jiwoo waves it in your face, at the same time ushering you into the fitting room.

“I don’t know,” you say as she thrusts it into your hands. “I normally don’t wear dresses like these—”

“Just try it on,” Jiwoo huffs, and you respond by closing the door and doing as she says.

You have to admit, the dress hugs your body nicely—making it look like you have curves, for one thing—even though you feel much too exposed and fancy than any occasion would require. You open the door to tell Jiwoo as much, but your words die in your mouth as she gapes with her mouth falling open, and runs in to hug you excitedly. “Yes, yes, _yes_ , you look absolutely stunning and I am buying you that dress no matter what you say.”

“Jiwoo, no. I have no reason to wear this dress, ever—”

“Shut it. Who needs a reason to look good?”

“But it’s so _fancy_ and when would I ever need to—”

“Well, you’re going to have to go to some kind of formal event sometime, right? You can wear it then.”

You close the door again to change out of the dress. As you hold it up in front of you, admiring the silky fabric between your fingers, you have to admit that it really is a beautiful dress. “Okay, I’ll buy it,” you say as you leave the changing room, but Jiwoo is nowhere to be seen. “Jiwoo?”

“Yeah, I’m here!” she calls as she comes over, shopping bag in hand. “Here. It’s the same dress,” she explains at the confused glance you give her, and takes the one in your hand to put back on the rack. “I really just wanted to do something for you, since it’s been forever since we’ve last hung out. And I’ve been so preoccupied lately that I’ve been a horrible friend.” She takes your hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Jiwoo, it’s not a problem. I know Jihoon is important to you. I’m not angry or upset. And you didn’t have to buy this for me,” you reply as you and Jiwoo leave the store, raising the bag. You’re inexplicably torn between frustration and gratitude. You’re tired of your friends treating you like a piece of glass, delicate and easily broken. You’re tired of seeing them tiptoeing around topics that they think would be insensitive to discuss around you—namely, their partners and their love lives. You know they stop their cheerful gossiping and teasing when you walk in the room, and now is as good a time as any to start fixing that. You lead her to the food court and sit down at an empty table, placing the bag in the seat next to you.

You let out a breath, not quite sure how to voice the warring emotions inside of you. “Jiwoo…the thing is, I don’t need anyone to pity me,” you say quietly.

“I don’t—” she begins.

“Just let me finish. I know that you, and Hana, and Nara, all look at me and maybe you don’t say it, but I know you pity me for not having found my soulmate yet. Not only that, I’m always either working or studying and I never have time for anything, because I don’t have the luxury of being financially stable enough that I can take time off and just hang out. 

“And it’s true, it’s wearing me out, but I will ask for help when I feel I need it. I love you guys, and I appreciate your concern, but I’m really okay. Not everyone finds love, and not everyone finds it quickly.”

Jiwoo takes your hand from across the table. “I know. I know you’re strong, and you don’t need pity. I don’t pity you. I just want you to be happy, Y/N. And that’s not going to happen if you keep pushing yourself and pushing yourself like the way you’ve been doing.”

You put your head in your hands, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I just—I don’t know anymore. I can’t just stop working, can’t just stop pulling all-nighters to study for tests when I’m paying for these classes anyway.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out. And I’m always here, if you ever need me.”

You look at her and smile. “I know. Thanks.”

“Alright, enough sad talk. I say we each get a cup of ice cream and continue on. There are so many places left we’ve yet to explore. We haven’t gone here in what, a year?”

You agree and head over to the ice cream shop in the corner of the food court, where you get vanilla with gummy bears and sprinkles and Jiwoo gets strawberry and yogurt chips. Jiwoo leads you into a cosmetics shop, then an accessories shop, and by the time the two of you decide to call it a day and leave the mall you’re both carrying heaping bags of clothes, makeup, facemasks, and accessories.

On the way out the doors you drop a small bag containing some necklaces you had just bought, but Jiwoo is oblivious as she continues making her way to the parking lot. You sigh, hoping to god that the necklaces haven’t broken or cracked somehow—they’re glass—and bend down to pick up the bag. “Why on earth did I let her convince me to get all this when I need to save to buy textbooks for next semester?” you mutter under your breath.

As you stand up and hurry to catch up to Jiwoo, a breeze blows your hair in your face, carrying along with it a faint scent of lemon-mint; sweet, spicy, and crisp.

-

“Come on, slowpoke, it’s late and I want to get home and shower,” Jiwoo jokes as you reach her car. She’s stuffing all her shopping bags in the trunk and you join her.

“You’re the one who suggested we go to the mall in the first place,” you fire back good-naturedly, done with your bags and getting into the passenger seat. “We could be home, warm and comfortably watching a movie.”

Jiwoo rolls her eyes as she shuts the trunk and slides into the driver’s seat, yanking on the seatbelt. “Please. As if you didn’t enjoy that just as much as I did.”

“I can’t believe we got those shoes. Seventy percent off! And they were so cute, too.”

“Exactly!” Jiwoo hums contentedly as she reverses and drives out of the parking lot. “Did you want to stay over at my apartment, or do you want me to drop you off at home?”

“Please. I love you, and you know I love our sleepovers, but I’m not in the mood to third-wheel you and Jihoon.”

Jiwoo laughs. “Not likely. I think he just stopped by to pick up something he needed and left.”

You look over at her and raise an eyebrow. “And decided to make himself some hot chocolate before he headed out?”

Even with the dim lighting you see Jiwoo blush as she shoots you a sheepish smile. “He does that sometimes. Anyway, I need to turn now if you want to go home, so what’s your answer?”

“I’ll sleep over at yours.”

“Wonderful!” Jiwoo continues humming as she turns on the radio, and you find yourself singing along horribly to the pop songs playing. Jiwoo joins you, and by the time you reach her house you’re laughing so hard that you can almost pretend it’s just like the old days, before she ever met Jihoon, before any of your friends had found their soulmates, and you were just a group of fun-loving high schoolers hanging out and enjoying life the way only the young and carefree can.

Jiwoo unlocks the door and kicks off her shoes, heading straight to her room. “Can you lock the door?” she calls out behind her. “Thanks!”

You do as she asks and follows her into her room. “Just put your bags in that corner over there,” Jiwoo says, pointing with her chin at a relatively spacey corner in her cluttered room, clothes strewn everywhere. “Sorry, I should have cleaned a bit earlier,” she mutters as she picks up clothes by the armful from the floor, gathering them all into a neat pile by the door.

You laugh as you flop onto her bed. “It’s fine, not like that’s anything new.”

“That’s true,” she admits, giving the pile one last kick and turning to her closet. She picks through her clothes, flinging a worn gray t-shirt and pink sweats at you. “Here, you can change into those after you shower.” She finds a change of clothes for herself as well and heads to the bathroom, shutting the door. “Oh yeah, if you need underwear, they’re in the second drawer!” she shouts.

“Got it!” you yell back, still lying on her bed. You start a game on your phone, waiting for Jiwoo to finish showering. Twenty minutes later, she emerges, smelling freshly like strawberry shampoo.

You grab the outfit she’d lent to you and head into the bathroom. “You can use the extra towel—it’s the plain white one!” she calls after you.

You roll your eyes as you look at the towels hanging on the back of the door: a pink towel with white polka dots, a black-and-white striped one, and a new-looking plain white one. It’s not like Jiwoo needed to tell you which is hers; you don’t think Jihoon is the type to use the sad plain towel when there’s the perfectly good striped one. But then again, who knows, right?

It’s amazing what a nice hot shower can do, you muse as you dry your hair, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You look happier, you realize, and less stressed. Taking some time for yourself is probably something you should do more often.

When you’re done, you head back into Jiwoo’s room to discard your dirty clothes into one of your many bags. You head into the kitchen afterward to find something to drink, where you see Jiwoo and Jihoon talking in hushed tones. Jiwoo has her back to you, but Jihoon spots you, giving you a smile and a wave. “Oh, hi, Y/N. Jiwoo mentioned you’re staying over.”

“Hey, Jihoon,” you reply, giving him a smile back as you walk over to the fridge. “Did you miss Jiwoo too much or something? I thought she said you had to grab something and leave.”

“I did,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “But I realized I forgot my flash drive here so I had to come back and get it.”

“Next thing you know—” You begin, but then the smell hits you again, stronger this time: definitely a lemon scent, but also sharper than a lemon scent would smell, and sweeter. 

Jiwoo and Jihoon are still staring at you, though, so open the fridge as you continue on. “Next thing you know, he’ll be coming back for his headphones, and then his hat, and then his socks, and then at one kernel of popcorn he dropped on the ground yesterday,” you say wryly as you take the carton of orange juice and close the door.

Jihoon laughs and grabs his keys from the counter. “I promise I won’t intrude on you girls anymore. Anyway, Wonwoo’s waiting outside in the car; I said I’d drive him home, and then I have to head to the studio to work on some things. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Jiwoo says as he pulls her in for a quick peck on the forehead and leaves, probably out of consideration for you.

“You want some orange juice?” you ask Jiwoo as you grab a cup.

“No, I’m good, thanks.” She takes a seat by the counter, scrolling on her phone.

“Can I ask you something?” you blurt.

Jiwoo looks up from her phone curiously. “What?”

“Does Jihoon still smell like spring or whatever to you?”

“Yeah,” she answers, looking at you strangely. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I was just curious.” But a million thoughts float through your mind then. Jihoon still didn’t smell like anything to you when you walked past him, and yet there definitely was a lemony scent. It isn’t Jiwoo, or yourself either, because she uses strawberry-scented shampoo and vanilla body wash. Which means there is only one explanation…

Jiwoo seems to have reached the same conclusion, because her face suddenly brightens up. “You smell him, don’t you?” she whispers excitedly. “You smell something.”

“Smelled. It’s gone now,” you whisper back, as if the two of you are conspirators, speaking of some forbidden thing.

Jiwoo gasps. “Is it Wonwoo? Jihoon said he was in the car—”

“I don’t know, you said it’s a mile radius so it could be anyone on this street—”

“But what are the chances you smelled him just when Jihoon arrived? It’s got to be Wonwoo, I’ll tell Jihoon to set something up—”

“Oh, my God—”

Jiwoo jumps off the seat and runs over to hug you so suddenly you almost fall over. “I’m so happy for you, Y/N! You finally found him, oh my goodness—”

“But what if it’s not him?” you ask. A mile radius includes a lot of people. For all you know, it could be someone visiting a neighbor.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll mention it to Jihoon tomorrow when he comes over.” Jiwoo grabs your empty cup and drops it into the sink with one hand, turning you around with the other. She leads you out of the kitchen and into her room. “It’s past midnight now. We should sleep and get you ready for your date tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” you squeak.

“Yeah, Jihoon hangs out with him a lot. He’s a nice guy—I’m glad he’s your soulmate,” Jiwoo says, beaming, and turns off the light.

You settle on one side of the queen-sized bed, and Jiwoo flops onto the other with a very unladylike oof. “This is nice,” she comments. “It’s just like before.”

“Yeah,” you agree, and the two of you lapse into a silence so long you’re sure she’s fallen asleep. But you break it anyway. “Can you tell me about Wonwoo?”

“Ah,” Jiwoo says sleepily, but complies anyway. “His name’s Jeon Wonwoo. Hmm, let’s see…he’s pretty tall, nice eyes, a really deep voice. He’s generally pretty quiet, but if you get close enough you’ll find he cracks really stupid jokes and he’s just an awkward guy, I think, but it’s cute. I’m sure you’ll get along great.”

“You think so?” You hate to sound so desperate, especially after giving her your speech about not needing pity and ‘not everyone finds love.’ But now that you’re finally close, there’s a strange sensation in your chest and it’s freeing, because it means that you’re not destined to be alone forever after all.

“Definitely.”

Five minutes later, you find yourself drifting off to sleep with thoughts of a tall, dark-haired boy with golden skin and a smile like the sun.


	2. Chapter 2

###  Words: 3,728

_“Ah,” Jiwoo says sleepily, but complies anyway. “His name’s Jeon Wonwoo. Hmm, let’s see…he’s pretty tall, nice eyes, a really deep voice. He’s generally pretty quiet, but if you get close enough you’ll find he cracks really stupid jokes and he’s just an awkward guy, I think, but it’s cute. I’m sure you’ll get along great.”_

_“You think so?” You hate to sound so desperate, especially after giving her your speech about not needing pity and ‘not everyone finds love.’ But now that you’re finally close, there’s a strange sensation in your chest and it’s freeing, because it means that you’re not destined to be alone forever after all._

_“Definitely.”_

_Five minutes later, you find yourself drifting off to sleep with thoughts of a tall, dark-haired boy with golden skin and a smile like the sun._

\---

Getting the covers yanked off you is one of the worst ways to wake up, and so you groan and try to reach for the blanket as Jiwoo does just that the following morning. “It’s too early for this,” you complain, voice cracking.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” she replies, much too energetic for your liking. “We have to get you ready for your date.”

“Date? What? When?” You sit up, raking a hand through your tangle-ridden hair.

Jiwoo snickers. “Get it together, Y/N. Date with Jeon Wonwoo, your soulmate.” She rummages in her closet. “I called Jihoon this morning, and he said he’d arrange something at five. Now get up, we have things to do!”

“How did I sleep until three?” This has to be a new record. You shake your head as you go into the bathroom to make yourself semi-presentable, and when you return to Jiwoo’s room, she has changed and is in the process of putting on makeup. “I’ll be done in five minutes,” she says, meeting your eyes through her mirror. “Gather your things and grab something from the kitchen if you’re hungry, and then we’ll go over to your house to actually get you ready.”

You carry all your bags over to the front door, before making yourself a bowl of cereal. Five minutes later, as promised, Jiwoo appears, keys and bag in hand. “Let’s go, let’s go, time’s running out!” she calls as she heads outside.

You grab your things and run outside after her, making yourself comfortable in her car as she locks the door. “I can’t believe you actually found him,” Jiwoo exclaims as she makes a turn that is much too wide, earning her a honk from an oncoming car.

“Yeah, well,” you mumble, suddenly nervous, “I can’t either.”

Jiwoo pulls into a parking spot and you practically run into the house. For some reason you’re so anxious and sitting still seems impossible right now. At a leisurely pace, Jiwoo follows you into the apartment and closes the door behind her as you put your bags down in your room. “What are you going to wear?” she asks as she enters the room to find you staring intensely into your closet.

“I don’t know yet. Do you think I should go for a dress, or a tee and skirt? Or is that too much? Would wearing jeans be too casual though?”

“You are not wearing jeans on your first date,” Jiwoo replies sternly, and that settles it. She reaches inside your closet and tugs at a black floral cotton dress. “This is cute; wear this. Or, actually,” she says as she finds a pale pink dress, “this is nice too.” Jiwoo pulls out both and holds them up. “You choose.”

“I think I like the black one better. More casual, but still cute, you know?”

Jiwoo grins in response. She holds it out to you and you take it, heading to the bathroom to change and plug in your hair straightener. When you emerge fifteen minutes later, changed and hair straightened, Jiwoo looks at you from her position on your bed. “Cute!” she comments, and stands up. “Sit down. I’ll do your makeup.”

“Just keep it natural,” you say as you sit on the bed. You close your eyes as Jiwoo makes your skin look smooth and cheekbones sharper, dusts eyeshadow and draws liner onto your eyes. The brush is soft against your skin, and you’re almost lulled to sleep before Jiwoo speaks up.

“Alright, go look,” Jiwoo says once she finishes. You do, and you have to admit that Jiwoo did a phenomenal job.

“Thanks, Jiwoo,” you smile at her.

Her only response is to grin and check her watch. “We have an hour left. Knowing Jihoon, he’s going to get there early, and I’m assuming that he’s dragging Wonwoo—sorry, driving him to meet us—so we should probably head out.”

You grab a white bag and fill it with your essential items, then follow her out the door. Once in Jiwoo’s car, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” you admit.

Jiwoo reaches over and pats your knee. “It’s fine. That’s normal. Just breathe and pretend he’s just any other friend. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

You can’t help yourself from voicing your doubts. “I guess, for some strange reason, I’m scared that it was a mistake and he’s not the one after all. I mean, what if we get there, and Wonwoo and I both realize this was a mistake?”

She shoots you a glance so meaningful that you know she doesn’t believe that would be possible. Instead as she pulls into a parking spot at a nearby restaurant, she only says, 

“Then you make a new friend and enjoy some good food. Deal?”

You take a deep breath. “Deal.”

Jiwoo leads the way inside, where you find Jihoon sitting alone at a table near the back. Jiwoo’s face brightens up instantly, and she waves at him, making her way across the small restaurant. Watching her, you can’t help but feel envious—not of her, necessarily, but of her happiness, of her self-assuredness and sense of belonging. You follow her and stand awkwardly at the table where Jiwoo has already seated herself across from Jihoon.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jihoon greets you with a smile. “I’m glad you found him. Though I can’t believe it’s Wonwoo, of all people—ow!” He stops abrupty and rubs at his knee, where presumably Jiwoo has kicked him. “Anyway, he went into the restroom. He should be out soon, though. Your table is over there,” Jihoon says, indicating the table behind them. 

“Have fun, you two,” Jiwoo practically sings, as though she isn’t going to be sitting right behind you.

As you take your seat, you finally place the sense of dread in your stomach: you can’t smell anything, even though Wonwoo is in the restroom about twenty feet away from where you’re sitting.

Five minutes later, when Wonwoo emerges, he sits across from you. “Hi, I’m Wonwoo,” he says, introducing himself with his hand extended, but he shoots you a sad smile.

“I’m Y/N,” you respond, shaking his hand and returning his smile. You both know now that you had been mistaken, and you’re sure your cheeks are flaming.

Wonwoo, however, is polite enough not to point it out. He seems about as determined as you to ignore the awkwardness. Like Jiwoo said, you might as well use this opportunity to make a new friend, right? Right.

You browse the menu and try your best to make small talk. You learn that Wonwoo is actually quite nice. He’s around your age—two years older—and goes to the same university as you. He works at a bookstore not too far from campus, something he seems quite proud of. One hour later, you and Wonwoo share a banana split, and you are full and happier than you have been in a while.

You set your spoon down, shaking your head. “I’m done. I’m too full.”

Wonwoo shrugs and pulls the bowl toward himself. It will never cease to amaze you how much boys can eat. “So anyway,” he says around a mouthful of ice cream, something you would have found disgusting with anyone else, “since we have the same free hours between classes, we should hang out more.”

“Yeah,” you reply, unlocking your phone and handing it to him. “Here, let’s exchange numbers.”

He takes it and gives you his in response. After punching in your number and returning it to him, you watch as he does the same and scoops another spoonful of ice cream. “Do you normally eat this much?” you ask, amazed.

“No,” he responds, lips quirking up in a smile. “But since we’re eating out I might as well eat as much good food as I can, right?”

“I’m not sure that mentality is the healthiest,” you respond, laughing.

“Oh, it definitely isn’t. But when you don’t have time to eat properly most days…” He trails off, looking out the window for a while before happily continuing to eat.

Your heart goes out to the boy; he must have it as hard as you. Wonwoo finally sits back with a contented sigh as he finishes. 

“Are you two done?” Jiwoo asks, amusement apparent in her voice. You jump slightly; you hadn’t even noticed her and Jihoon getting up to stand by your table.

“Yeah,” you answer. “You can go on out first. I’m just going to go pay and I’ll be right there.”

Wonwoo stands up the moment you do, and his long legs carry him to the register too fast for you to follow. You reach the counter as he hands the cashier his card, and you can only stare at him, aghast. “Wait, did you already pay?”

“Yeah.”

“For both of us?” you ask, voice squeaking.

“Yeah,” he answers nonchalantly as he puts his card back into his wallet.

“Jeon Wonwoo!” You’re flattered and secretly, guiltily, relieved. But mostly you’re just shocked and indignant—you had just met for the first time today, and you weren’t even actually soulmates. And you and Wonwoo had spent a good deal of time complaining about working and studying, and how hard it was to save any money. Guilt crushes you, and it must have been apparent on your face, because Wonwoo gives you a gentle smile and puts his hands on your shoulders, leading you out of the restaurant.

“It wasn’t actually that much,” he says, letting go of you when you near the door. “Besides, if you’re really feeling guilty, you can pay the next time we go eat. And next time, we’re going to some famous five-star restaurant with five-hundred-dollar steak.”

You roll your eyes, but smile at him. “Anyway, thanks, Wonwoo.”

He returns the smile. “You’re welcome. Anyway, it looks like Jihoon is waiting, so I’m going to go. It was nice meeting you, Y/N. See you around!”

“Just text me when you’re free or something to hang out,” you say, waving and starting to leave.

“Wait,” Wonwoo says suddenly. You give him a questioning look as you turn back around. “I hope you find your soulmate soon.”

It’s almost like getting a bucket of cold water thrown in your face, and your smile turns wistful. “Thanks. I hope you do too.”

Wonwoo gives one last wave before heading to Jihoon’s silver car in the opposite end of the parking lot as Jiwoo’s. You watch him get into the car before turning around and going to Jiwoo’s car.

“So?” Jiwoo asks the moment you open the car door.

“Well, he’s not the one,” you answer as you shut the door, and Jiwoo looks incredulous. “But he’s a nice guy, and I’m hoping we can be friends anyway.”

“Huh,” Jiwoo says as she pulls out of the parking lot. “That’s so strange. You’re sure you smelled someone yesterday, right?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Don’t worry. At least we’re getting closer to finding him. He was near my house yesterday night, so you can just visit, like, every night until we find out who’s coming and going in my neighbors’ houses—”

You laugh. Jiwoo is taking this more seriously than you are, and it’s _your_ soulmate. “Jiwoo, it’s fine. I’m not going to creep on your neighbors.”

“But we have to find him _somehow_.”

“I’m sure I’ll run into him sometime under normal circumstances.”

“We have to speed things up, though! Jihoon and I were going to throw a party tonight; you should come. There’s a good chance that he’ll be there.”

“Party?” you repeat. “It’s Sunday. You do realize most people have classes tomorrow, right?”

“We’re kicking everyone out at midnight.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, I’ll stop by tonight.”

“Great!” Jiwoo stops by the curb in front of your house. “The party starts at nine. See you then!”

“See you,” you mutter as you close the door and head into your apartment. You kick off your shoes and go straight into your room, flopping onto your bed. A look at the clock tells you that it’s currently six, so you have a few hours before Jiwoo’s party starts—but then again, you never arrive at parties on time, if at all.

You wonder, suddenly, if Wonwoo is planning to go. Jiwoo is your friend, and you’re sure there are several other of your friends that are going, but it’s nice to have someone who won’t be preoccupied with others. You grab your phone and type out a message, thumb hovering over the send button. This wouldn’t sound creepy, would it? Well, he knows that considering he’s not your soulmate, you wouldn’t be trying to make a move on him. You shrug, close your eyes, and hit send.

A minute later, your phone alerts you to a new message. It’s Wonwoo, who says that he’ll go, but he will most likely be a little late.

Relieved, you decide to get some homework done. Since you’re going to be heading out later, showering seems like a rather pointless option; you’re going to come back reeking anyway. Even if you don’t drink a drop of alcohol, the smell of the parties somehow always manages to cling to your clothes long after they’re over.

You manage to finish an essay before you rub your eyes and look at the clock: five minutes before nine. You head into the bathroom to wash your face before grabbing your bag and keys. By the time you find a parking spot and knock on Jiwoo’s door, you can already hear the bass pounding from outside the house. Jihoon answers and greets you with a smile so wide you can tell he’s already had a cup or two. “Hey, Y/N, come on in.”

You walk in and close the door behind you, waiting a few moments to adjust to the music blasting from the living room. The apartment is already packed, and you spot a few friends dancing in the crowd. You decide to head into the kitchen, hoping it will be less crowded there.

Apparently, Wonwoo had the same thought, because you find him sitting there alone, on his phone. “Hey, Wonwoo.”

He looks up and smiles when he sees you. “Oh, hi.”

“I thought you were going to be late,” you say, sitting on the counter next to him.

“I thought so too, but my boss let me out early, so here I am.”

“I’m actually not too fond of parties,” you admit.

He sighs. “Neither am I. I guess that’s why we’re both hiding out in here, huh?”

You laugh. “I guess so. Do you want anything to drink?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “No thanks. I have to drive myself home, and I’d rather not die on the way.”

“Me too,” you agree. “I meant water, juice, you know, other non-alcoholic things Jiwoo has in her fridge.”

“Water would be good.”

You find two bottles of water from the fridge and hand him one. “Thanks,” he says, taking it as you climb back onto the counter.

The two of you sit in companionable silence, both on your phones. That is, until the now-familiar smell hits you again, stronger than ever before—so strong that you’re sure, positive, that he’s here in this apartment right now, somewhere out there among the mass of people.

You slide off the counter, earning a curious look from Wonwoo. “Are you okay?” he asks, frowning slightly. “You’re kind of…pale.”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine, I’ll be right back—” You leave before he can respond, almost running into a couple making out against the wall right outside the kitchen. “Sorry,” you mutter, but they’re so engrossed in each other you’re sure they can’t hear you.

The sheer amount of people in the compact space is overwhelming, so you try to look around before you join the throng of bodies. No one seems to be as confused or searching like you are, though, so you have no choice but to try to find him in the crowd.

After what seems like an hour later, with too many gropes and nearly spilled drinks for your liking, you give up and decide to go back to the kitchen. Wonwoo is gone, though, and the kitchen is empty except for Jiwoo and Jihoon, who have their heads bent toward each other and are whispering together. Deciding to give them their privacy, you stand outside the kitchen, holding a cup that someone shoved in your hands that you have no intention of drinking from.

It’s frustrating, though, because you can still smell him—you know he’s here somewhere, but even after that adventure searching through most of the partiers, the smell didn’t get any stronger, no indication at all that you were getting closer to him. All it earned you were several suggestive eyebrow raises and guys too close for your comfort.

“Why are you just standing here?” a voice asks beside you, and you turn around. It’s Jiwoo.

“Since when do I do anything other than stand there at parties?” you fire back, but there’s no malice behind your statement, just tired resignation.

Jiwoo shrugs, sipping from her cup. “You could dance.”

You decide to ignore this. “I didn’t know you could even fit this many people into your apartment.”

“I didn’t either,” Jiwoo admits, “but people somehow all manage to squeeze in at parties. It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Either way, I’m not looking forward to cleaning up this mess,” Jiwoo says with a pout.

“Then why did you even decide to throw a party?” you ask, amused.

Jiwoo shrugs again and looks behind her. “Anyway, try to have some fun. I’m going to go find Jihoon.” She pats your shoulder and heads into the packed living room.

Seeing how you’re not going to drink from the cup anyway, it would probably be a better idea to pour it out before someone bumps into you and spills it on you instead. With a sigh, you turn around and enter the kitchen, pouring the contents of the cup into the sink.

“That’s quite a waste,” a voice says from the entrance to the kitchen, and you close your eyes. It’s him. “You know, if you weren’t going to drink it, you could have given it to me.” The voice had steadily come closer to you until you could almost feel him—as well as smell him—behind you.

“You should have come sooner, then,” you answer, turning around and opening your eyes, and you almost take a step back.

He’s tall—so tall that you have to crane your head upwards to look at his face. He has golden skin and mop of messy, side-swept black hair. His dark eyes bore into yours as your gaze travels to his crooked smile. “I’ve been looking for you,” he whispers, and you shiver.

“So have I,” you whisper back, and he pulls you in for a hug. Your first response is to want to pull away or push him off you, since after all, you had never even seen him before. 

But then you remember who he is, and the reality hits you as you let him be. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt tucked into black leather pants so tight you can only describe it as sinful, and he’s hugging you so tightly you’re pressed up completely against him. It feels good, and right, but somehow it strikes you that something is off and very strange about this entire situation. You breathe him in and hug him back, tightly, and that’s when you realize: even if the lemon-mint scent is infinitely stronger—more citrusy today, more tangy and sharp—it’s muted by the stench of booze and cigarettes.

Never in any of Jiwoo’s accounts, has Jihoon’s signature springy smell been muted by any other scent, even when he was drunk or sick. The smell that soulmates pick up on represent each other’s true personalities, their essence, who or what they were at the very core.

Which is why it makes no sense that in his presence—especially pressed this close to him—you can smell anything other than the sweet-tangy scent of lemon-mint you learned to associate him with.

“You—” You let go of him abruptly, stepping back away from him but the only thing that’s behind you is the sink, so it digs painfully into your back as you look up at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hurt in his eyes, voice low. His hands reach for your shoulders, but you brush them away impatiently.

“I think there’s a mistake,” you whisper, staring at the ground.

His hand reaches for your chin and he lifts your head so that you’re forced to look straight into his eyes. “What do you mean there’s a mistake?” He leans in, so close that his next words tickle your ear. “I smell you, and I know you smell me, too. You want to know what you smell like?”

“What?” you ask, despite yourself. At this point, your heart is pounding so fast, so hard, there’s no way he can’t feel it given how close he is to you.

“You smell like the ocean breeze,” he answers, wrapping his arms around you again, and rests his head against your shoulder.

“That’s it? That’s all you smell?” Because you still think he reeks of alcohol and cigarettes underneath the citrus.

“Is there something more I should be smelling?” he asks against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“I guess not,” you say. Because there isn’t. Yet there’s something wrong, obviously. He’s drunk, maybe high. You smell it. Maybe he won’t even remember finding you, saying all these things, come morning and he’s sober. And even though you know you should push him away, leave and try to figure out this mess, find out what’s going on, every inch of your body is screaming at you to stay put, to hug him. And because you have no inclination to move, to act as logic dictates, you stay wrapped in his arms.

“My name is Kim Mingyu,” he says after a while, voice slightly slurred, straightening up to his full height to look into your eyes. “And I’ve found you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> -violence  
> -implied death

### Words: 3436

You reach home much earlier than midnight, with the party still going at full swing. Your heart is still pounding, head still spinning, despite the fact that you had had zero drinks the entire night.

You throw your bag into your chair and collapse onto your bed, the events of that night still swirling through your mind. You rub your palms against your eyes, exhaustion overwhelming every part of your body. Unbidden, you recall the feel of him, the warmth as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight against his body.

_“My name is Kim Mingyu. And I’ve found you,” he said, looking down at you with those beautiful, beautiful eyes of his._

_“I’m Y/N,” you responded._

_And then he said without preamble, “Give me your phone.”_

_“What? Why?” Out of the blue?_

_“Just give it to me.” And so you took your phone out of your bag and unlocked it, handing it to him. He took it and punched in a number, reaching into his pocket to pull out his own phone, which he flashed at you. You saw your number on the caller ID. “Now we have each other’s numbers,” he said with a smile. He then struggled to put the phone back in his pocket, he was so drunk._

_“Here,” you said, stilling his hand. “I’ll do it.”_

_You pushed the phone hastily into his pocket, cheeks flushing at his suddenly intense gaze. It wasn’t until then that you realized how close you were to him. Fighting the urge to fan yourself, you took a step back, feeling the sink dig into your back again. His nearness, the warmth emanating from him, the way his breaths tickled the hairs on top of your head—and on top of all that, you could still_ smell _him, God—it was almost too much. Your heart was racing, and you felt so lightheaded that you wanted to either kiss him or get as far away from his as possible._ God _, was it possible to have your only options any farther apart—_

_As it turned out, he made the decision easier. “You know,” he said, staring at your lips, “I think I saw an empty room—”_

_“No,” you cut him off. Hell no. Not now, not when it was your first time meeting and he was drunk or high or both, and the only thing you knew about him was his name._

_At the hurt look on his face, you softened your tone. “Not today, okay? Not here. Not now. Besides, I was about to go home anyway. You saw me pouring out my drink.” Not completely a lie. You were about to leave, seeing how Wonwoo hadn’t been in the kitchen anymore and all of your other friends were preoccupied._

_Mingyu took it, nodding and giving you some more space. “Okay. Get home safe.”_

_You nodded at him, a tired smile on your face. You were about to walk out of the kitchen before you stopped and turned back to face him. “What about you? How are you getting home?”_

_“Don’t worry. I’m not driving. My apartment isn’t too far from here.” Then he smirked. “Are you worried about me? That’s touching.”_

_“As if. I just wanted to make sure you don’t kill anyone tonight.” Without waiting to see his reaction, you turned back around and left the kitchen, fighting your way through the crowd and to the door._

_But what you couldn’t forget, wouldn’t forget, ever, was the sound of Mingyu’s ringing laughter. It haunted you, even as you got in your car and started the engine._

_His laugh sent shivers running down your spine. And it was much, much different from the shivers you had gotten as he had whispered against your skin. No, this was different, completely, entirely, utterly different from the pleasant chills he had given you just minutes ago._

_Because it wasn’t a laugh of amusement. It was devoid of all happiness, didn’t reflect the fact that you had been joking with him. His laugh was bitter, full of anger and hate._

_And you weren’t sure you wanted to know the reason behind it._

You can still hear it, and even after putting in earphones and turning your music on louder than you ever normally would, it can’t overpower the sound of Mingyu’s laugh—so bitter it bordered on sobs. And despite that you try with all your might to block out all thoughts of him, you can’t help but wonder what someone has to go through before such a sound can even come out of a person.

With a sigh, you drag yourself to the bathroom to shower and hopefully clear your thoughts. The hot water is refreshing as it hits your skin, the steam and smell of soap familiar and comforting. It calms your overactive mind and you feel awake and clearheaded as you towel-dry your hair. You are determined to not think about anything as you make yourself a cup of warm tea in the kitchen and carry it back to your room.

You set the cup down with a sigh and settle into your chair, reaching into your backpack to grab your notebook and go over notes to prepare for class tomorrow—no, today, you realize as you look at the clock; it’s past midnight.

 _T cells require the use of APCs in order to destroy infected cells…_ Your head droops and you tiredly look at the clock—one in the morning—before you give up and turn off the light to sleep.

_“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t kill anyone tonight,” you say, back turned toward him._

_“Don’t worry,” he responds, and you turn around to face him._

_And you start walking backwards, away from him, because he’s holding the knife that Jiwoo complained she lost a week ago._ “Watch me stab myself on accident someday,” _she’d joked, laughing._ “At least I’ll know I’ve found it.”

_You had laughed then and told her not to make such morbid jokes. But you’re not laughing now, not as you stare at the tip of the knife, which currently is pointed straight at you. Did he sharpen it? Why does it look sharper than it was before?_

_Where did he even find the thing?_

_You’re backing away from him, trying to keep your steps steady and strong because you’re shaking and you’re sure that at any moment now your legs are going to give out—but then you hit a hard surface, and you look to see that the kitchen door is suddenly closed, and no matter how much you turn the knob, how hard you push, it won’t budge and your vision is getting blurry with tears because_ goddammit, you’re going to die—

_And then Mingyu is there, right in front of you, knife nowhere to be seen. He pulls you into a hug, and you’re so confused but he feels so right that without thinking you wrap your arms around him and sob into his shirt. “Shh,” he says, running his hand through your hair with one hand, rubbing your back comfortingly with the other._

_As your tears dry up and your sobs die down, you’re left holding on to him as he continues to comfort you. His hands still soon, though, once he feels that you’ve calmed down._

_Mingyu bends down so that his lips are right beside your ear. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, and you shiver as his breath tickles you. And then you feel a cold surface pressing against your back, and you stiffen, because you know exactly what it is, and trapped like this, you have no chance of escape._

_“Don’t worry,” Mingyu says again, pressing the flat of the knife harder against your back. You close your eyes, full of unshed tears as you accept your fate._

_“It’s not just anyone that I’m going to kill.”_

You wake up with a scream, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Your breaths are shaky, uneven, as you climb out of bed and head to the bathroom to splash your face with cold water.

It’s a dream. Just a dream. You were confused and that’s why your thoughts and overactive imagination snuck into your dreams.

All the same, knowing that doesn’t stop you from dropping your phone onto your bed as you see that you have two texts from the very person who had caused you to be so shaken.

_6:15am  
So I realize we didn’t really meet under the best circumstances...I wasn’t exactly sober, was I? Sorry about that. If you’re willing, I’d like to meet up sometime this week to get to know each other better._

_6:17am  
Oh yeah…in case you were wondering, I got home safely lol_

You sneer at the phone at the last text. “Did I ask?” you scoff, but you smile despite yourself.

And one second later, the smile disappears. Do you really want to see him again?

Yes. Yes, you do, because avoiding him and letting your imagination run wild while not even bothering to get to know him is wrong. Because if you avoid him, you wouldn’t even have given him the chance to prove all your baseless opinions of him wrong. Because despite everything, there is the undeniable fact that he is your soulmate.

And so you grab your phone and text him back.

_Sure, when are you free?_

After hitting send, you glance up at the clock. “Shit!” you mutter as you rush to get cleaned up and changed. It’s seven-thirty, meaning you have half an hour to get to class. You ignore the vibrations that tell you Mingyu has answered almost immediately, because you’re in too much of a hurry. You brush your teeth and change in record time, grabbing the first pieces of clothing you see that smell clean, and yank your hair into a messy ponytail. Grabbing your bag, phone, and keys, you storm out of your apartment and floor it all the way to the alarmingly full school parking lot.

You check your watch as you sit in an empty seat in class: one minute to spare. Out of breath, you pull out your phone, suddenly remembering that Mingyu had texted back.

_7:32am  
I’m free basically all day today. You?_

A quick glance up tells you the professor hasn’t arrived yet. You text a hasty reply.

_I have class now until 10._

His answer comes almost immediately again.

_8:04am  
Cool. I’ll come pick you up at 10._

_8:04am_  
Wait. Which uni do you go to?

You reply with the school name, as well as instructions telling him where to wait for you.

_8:07am  
Hey, we go to the same school! I’ll just walk then. Meet you at the quad at 10._

You suddenly can’t focus on the lecture, simply copying down any diagrams the professor provides and planning to rely on your recording of today’s lecture to catch up with the material later on. You give up on that, too, after a while, as you find yourself scribbling in the corner of your notebook as you try to imagine what will happen later when you meet him. With growing horror, you realize that in your haste to get to class on time today, you’d thrown on a gray hoodie and a pair of black jeans, and your hair is a mess.

You undo your ponytail and try to inconspicuously comb your hair with your fingers. Then again, you probably have bags under your eyes anyway, and he had better get used to seeing you like this anyway if he was your soulmate, right? Right.

Wrong. It feels strange to be dressed so casually on a first date. You pull your phone out and text him: _Let’s meet at 11._

The moment class ends, you run to the parking lot and drive home, changing into a light pink v-neck that you pair with a flowy black skirt that hits just above your knees. You straighten your hair and sweep on eyeliner and mascara before grabbing the white bag from yesterday and heading out.

You walk to the Quad, a large spacious area near the center of the campus, where Mingyu had said he would be waiting. You smell him before you can see him, with the amount of people sitting and standing around in clumps. Fresh citrus, the lemon scent so sweet today that it borders on smelling like grapefruit. You wander aimlessly, trying to find him among all the people. After a few minutes, you see him sitting on the grass under a tree, wearing a black dress shirt tucked into blue jeans, legs straight out and crossed at the ankles. It shouldn’t be possible for anyone to look so good, you think as you study him. He seems to be scrolling through his phone completely as ease, even though if you can smell him, he obviously can smell you.

“Took you long enough,” he says without looking up as you walk over to him.

You sit down next to him. “Seeing how you couldn’t be bothered to stand up, I’m not sure you can blame me.”

Mingyu looks over then, too-long black hair almost hiding his eyes. “Sorry,” he says, shooting you a grin that makes you almost forget how to breathe.

Unfair.

“It’s fine. So…what did you want to do?” You pick at a few blades of grass, feeling Mingyu’s gaze on you.

“Well, we could walk around downtown and then eat, or we can eat first and then walk around. Are you hungry?”

What a guy. You’re tempted to say no. What kind of impression would you make if the first thing you want to do after meeting him is eat? “No, we can walk around first,” you tell him, but the moment you finish, your stomach grumbles.

Mingyu chuckles as he stands up, and you want to crawl into a hole and hide for the next ten years. You just take the hand he extends towards you, cheeks flaming. “Let’s go eat.”

He’s not letting go of your hand, even though you’re standing.

Why are your cheeks burning? It feels like you’re going to combust any moment now.

You loosen your grip on his hand, which should be indication enough, but Mingyu holds on, eyebrow raised. Dear _lord,_ how is it possible for him to make your heart want to stop even while doing that? “Should we go?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He leads the way at a leisurely pace—for him, anyway. You have to take two steps for every one of his. “So I found this really good pizza place the other day,” he says. “Do you like pizza? It’s not too far from here, and their pepperoni pizza is _heavenly._ ”

“Right about now anything edible seems heavenly.”

Mingyu laughs, and it’s such a nice sound that you almost wonder if you had imagine the entire bitter-laugh scenario. But no, you’re sure you didn’t. “Trust me, it’s _really_ good.”

He’s right, as you find out half an hour later, sitting across from him. Your mind goes blank after the first bite, too focused on the combination of the tomato sauce and the cheese exploding in your mouth. “I want to cry,” you say once your mouth is clear. “This is so good.”

“I told you,” he replies, taking a hearty bite out of his own slice.

You’re still working on your second slice as he finishes inhaling another three. “I’m going to the restroom real quick,” he says, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

“Okay.”

You watch as he leaves, chewing thoughtfully. He doesn’t seem to be a bad person; he seems like a happy guy. The more time you spend with him, the more you seem to be able to convince yourself that you must have imagined everything somehow, that maybe it was actually another drunk partygoer who had laughed so painfully.

You finish your third slice, full and satisfied, but he still isn’t back yet. You start to wonder if he’s okay.

As if your thoughts had called him, Mingyu returns. “Are you done?” he asks, eyeing the way you’re sitting back against the seat, just staring at the pizza.

“Yeah, I’m full.”

“Seeing how there is still one slice left…” he trails off, staring at the pizza.

“Go for it,” you say, laughing. He does, taking a large bite and chewing happily. “Honestly, I will never understand how boys eat so much.”

Mingyu shrugs, finishing the rest of the slice. He takes a gulp of water and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Oh, man, I’m so full,” he says, slumping back against his seat.

“I wonder why,” you respond, raising your eyebrows.

He laughs, standing up. “Well then, should we go?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” You stand up as well and grab your bag, heading over to pay for the meal.

“Where are you going?” Mingyu asks, walking over to you as he realizes you hadn’t followed him to the door.

“We need to pay,” you answer, confused.

Your confusion only grows as his arm comes around your waist, leading you gently away. “That’s cute,” he says, “but I already paid.” You almost can’t hear him as you try to ignore the pleasant sensations shooting through your entire body at the feeling of his arm pressing against you, but he notices you shiver. “Are you cold?”

You shake your head, too shocked to answer.

“It’s okay, it was kind of cold in there. I’m sure the sun will warm you up,” he says as he holds open the door, waiting for you to walk through first.

His arm is still touching you.

You walk through quickly, willing your mind to clear itself and _pull yourself together, Y/N, what on earth is wrong with you?_

It’s Mingyu. You’re not sure what it is, but because you’re always aware of him, somehow every touch seems amplified, more intimate. You stare up at him as he walks beside you, making small talk. You learn that he is a year older than you, majoring in business. He has a younger sister, and he likes to take walks at night to clear his head.

The two of you don’t do much besides walk around and occasionally enter some stores that catch your interest, but you don’t mind, not in the least. Mingyu is pleasant company, and he’s extremely kind and considerate, always noticing when you want to take a break without you having to say anything.

It’s evening before you return to campus, because your car is parked there. “That was nice,” he says as you reach the Quad.

“Yeah, that was. Thanks, by the way—I haven’t had that much time to just walk around and enjoy myself.”

“I’m glad you got to do that today, then.” Mingyu smiles. “I don’t really have any more days where I’m free this week, but—” He’s interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. He pulls it out and frowns at the caller ID. “Sorry, I have to take this. It’s my—my friend.”

“Go ahead,” you say, shrugging. You turn your attention to the ground, kicking at some stray rocks as Mingyu walks a few steps away to take the call.

“What?” You can still hear him mumbling harshly into his phone despite the distance. “No, I’m out right now—what?” A pause. “No, I can’t come over right now—no, then _do_ something about it, dammit!” Another pause. And then, Mingyu says, quietly, deadly, “Then just get rid of him.”

Him?

Not _it_ , but _him_?

And now you smell it. All day, you only smelled the scent of citrus on him, but now the faint scent of cigarettes and alcohol and something indescribably _darker_ lies just underneath the sweet, crisp scent of what you now know is fundamentally _Mingyu_.

“Sorry about that,” he says as he walks over, jerking you out of your thoughts. “My friend was having some trouble because his dog ran away.”

You doubt he’s telling the truth. But you paste a smile onto your face anyway. “Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, I should probably go and help him find his dog. I’ll text you later, okay? Get home safe.”

“I will. Oh, and Mingyu?” He had been starting to walk away, but he turns back around with a questioning look. “I hope your friend finds his dog.”

“So do I,” he responds.

You turn away then, and start walking to the parking structure. You almost miss Mingyu’s last words, obviously not intended for you to hear.

“But his dog won’t be coming home, will he?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> -violence  
> -death mention

### Words: 7,274 rip

_Ignorance is bliss,_ they say.

But how can it be bliss when you feel like your head is going to explode at any moment now? It’s been hours and instead of getting any work done, you’ve been lying on your bed and thinking _too_ hard about the day with Mingyu, and how he just seemed to be a normal guy. Yet he obviously _isn’t_ , because it has been twice now that you’ve smelled the other side of him. Considering that you had both been in the Quad, alone, there was no reason to doubt you had smelled anything—any _one_ —but him.

You’re not even sure what your plan is as you grab your phone and text him. _Hey, if you don’t mind my asking, what’s your schedule for this semester?_

It’s honestly a little eerie how quickly he always replies.

 _10:05pm_  
Honestly why are you so formal with me

 _10:05pm_  
We need to work on that

 _10:05pm_  
Just talk to me like you would any other friend…

 _10:06pm_  
Also, of course! Here

Attached to the last text is a screenshot of his schedule; you only scan through it, promising yourself you’ll study it later. At the moment, you notice his first class is at eight in the morning tomorrow, two hours before yours. And that he had stacked all his classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so that he had three free days a week.

Your phone beeps again, alerting you to a new text. You’re not surprised to see that it’s Mingyu again.

 _10:07pm_  
What’s yours?

You screenshot your own schedule and send it in reply. _Sorry, I tend to be formal with people at first. Also, here_

Unlike before, it takes a few minutes before he answers.

 _10:10pm_  
You poor thing…no days off, huh

 _I know_ , you write back. _You’re always welcome to come save me_

When five minutes pass and he doesn’t reply even though you can see that he’s seen the message, you start to backtrack. See, this is why you don’t try to talk to people, don’t usually try to joke around because you have a strange sense of humor—

 _10:16pm_  
You know, there’s a self-saving method called ditching

 _10:17pm_  
I’m just kidding. Don’t do that

 _10:17pm_  
But maybe I’ll take you up on your offer and kidnap you one day

 _10:17pm_  
Like just walk into your class and take you right out and go on an adventure

 _10:18pm_  
What do you say?

How are you supposed to answer that? _I say I’m ready for an adventure_

 _10:19pm_  
Haha good ;)

 _10:20pm_  
What are you doing? Are you busy?

 _Nah_ , you answer. _I should be doing homework…but I’m not_

You set your phone down next to you, patiently waiting for his reply. You have the widest smile in your face despite your previous worries—what _is_ it with him and making you feel inexplicably happy? What is it about him that makes you forget all of your concerns?

You flinch when you hear your phone ring. You look at the caller ID: Mingyu. “Hello?” you answer, surprised.

“Hey,” he answers, and just his voice over the phone makes shivers run down your spine. It sounds deeper, and since the phone is right next to your ear…you shiver again. “Sorry for calling all of a sudden. I’d rather just talk than text.”

“It’s fine. What’s up?” you ask.

“Nothing much.” He sighs, and an _oof_ comes out, making you think he just plopped into a chair, or a couch, or a bed. You imagine Mingyu lying down on his bed and immediately shake your head to block out the image, not prepared to deal with the surge of emotions. “I just took a shower and now I’m in bed, staring at the pile of books I should be reading and taking notes on…but it’s so comfortable and warm I don’t want to move.”

You shift so that you’re staring at the ceiling as you hold the phone next to your ear. “Me too. I’m seriously considering just ditching class tomorrow.”

“What do you have again?”

“Math.”

“Ouch. But don’t let my bad behavior influence you. You don’t seem like the type to just ditch when you don’t feel like coming.”

It’s true. “Yeah, but…”

Mingyu sighs over the phone and there’s a rustling sound from the other end. “I think I might just go to sleep. Screw the essay.”

“Why would you want to screw the essay when you’re talking to me right now?” you ask, and your cheeks burn the moment the words leave your mouth. What was that? You _never_ flirt. You’re not the flirty type. Yet with _him_ , everything just feels natural, even unnecessarily cheesy and suggestive language.

Mingyu laughs. “You’re right; you’re much more attractive than mere pieces of paper.” He sighs again. “I’m so glad I was able to find you,” he says softly.

“I’m…glad you were too,” you say hesitantly. Because it’s true, to an extent—everything just feels smooth and right when you’re with him. Even talking to him like this over the phone late at night isn’t awkward or forced the way you usually feel with dealing with people you just met.

You wish all over again that you had just imagined the ashy smell, that you were scaring yourself, because there’s no way that such a nice guy could possibly be anything but a kind, warm-hearted person. He sounds sincere, honest, and you can’t help but think about what a gentleman he had been throughout the day. There’s no possible way he could be anything but that—you can’t even wrap your head around the concept of him having anything other than the kind and considerate persona you’ve seen of him.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

Mingyu clears his throat. “I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but…you smell really good.”

You’re really glad this is just a conversation over the phone, and he can’t see you, because you’re sure your entire face is now red. “I, uh…thanks, um—you do too.”

“No, really. You smell like when I walk by the ocean and the breeze picks up and carries with it the scent of the waves. Refreshing. Somehow no matter how tired I may be, you manage to make me feel awake and alive again.”

There’s a weird tingly sensation in your stomach and you fight the urge to fan yourself at his words. But you don’t really feel like thinking about how smells, because that’s what you’ve been doing for too many hours now. So instead, you ask, “Are you, by any chance, drunk, Kim Mingyu?”

“No,” he answers immediately. Then he pauses. “Okay, maybe I had a beer, but I’m not drunk.”

You frown. “You drink so casually like that?”

“Not all the time. I know it’s not good for me. It just helps me not think about…other things.”

“What other things?” You don’t like the sound of that.

“School, stress…the like.” You hear a rustling sound again, and Mingyu sighs. “Does it bother you? I’m trying to cut down, honestly.”

“Yeah, you should.” Almost immediately you realize that it’s still much too early in this relationship—if you can even call it a relationship right now—for you to be telling him what to do. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be all up in your business like that. I mean, who am I to—”

“Stop that,” he says, and you can hear the frustration in his voice.

You’re confused. “Stop what?”

“Stop treating me like you would any other stranger. You don’t have to apologize for being ‘up in my business’ because you’re my _soulmate_. I care about you, and I worry about you and your health. And I sure as hell hope you worry about mine, too.”

Your first reaction is to want to apologize again, but seeing how he had just told you not to apologize, you’re not sure what to say. “Like I said,” he says more softly, “just treat me like a friend. A close friend. Okay, hopefully more than just a friend eventually, but…you don’t have to worry so much about overstepping some kind of boundary. Between you and me, there’s a very blurred one. At least, that’s how I see it.”

 _Then what secrets are you keeping?_ “Oh,” is your only reply, though.

“Yeah, so anyway, I know you’re probably not happy with my drinking. My friends tell me the same thing.” Mingyu heaves another sigh. “So I’m working on it.”

“That’s good.” God, why are you so _awkward_? “I’ll trust you on that.”

“Mmmm.”

There’s a silence, and you squirm, trying to find either something else to talk about or a way to say goodbye without making it sound like you’re trying to get away—which is tricky, because you are.

Fortunately, Mingyu breaks the silence first. “Y/N?” he mumbles into the phone, voice somehow even deeper than before.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“Okay. Good night.”

“Don’t hang up,” he whines, and he sounds like such a kid that you almost laugh.

“Alright,” you sigh, shifting the phone to your other ear and sitting up. It’s getting late, but you should at least try to get some work done.

You put your phone on speaker as you settle into your chair, open up your textbook, and start to look over your notes. Normally, you would put on some soft piano music as you studied, but today, for some reason, the soft sounds of Mingyu’s breathing seems fitting.

It’s one in the morning before you put your pen down and rub your palms against your eyes. You stand and stretch, smiling at the sound of Mingyu on the other end of the phone, whose breathing has turned into soft snores.

“Good night, Mingyu,” you whisper as you set your phone next to your pillow and pull your blanket into a cocoon around you.

You’re answered with an especially loud snore from Mingyu, and you snicker. Maybe you should record this. But not right now, because you’re too lazy, and you can barely keep your eyes open. _Tomorrow_ , you promise yourself as you slip into unconsciousness.

-

You wake up to lots of grumbling and muttering. Squinting, you look at the clock: seven-thirty. Strange—your alarm isn’t supposed to go off for another two hours, and you bury your head back into your pillow before you realize what all the mumbled curses are and where they’re coming from.

Eyes still closed, you reach out with your hand, blindly groping the area near your head until you feel the cool surface of your phone. You grab it. “Mingyu?”

“What the fu—oh. Y/N? Has the call been going all night?”

“Mmmm.”

“Sorry, did I wake you?” There’s a minute of rustling and you frown, holding the phone away from you until it stops and Mingyu’s voice comes across much clearer than before. 

“You could have just hung up when you realized I was knocked out,” he says, chuckling.

“You said not to hang up,” you croak into the phone.

“My, my, what a beautiful voice you have first thing in the morning.”

You bury your face completely into your pillow. “Shut up,” you say, and it comes out muffled, but you can’t bring yourself to care so early in the morning.

Mingyu laughs, but stops abruptly and you hear a voice in the background. “Hang on,” he tells you, and his voice is muffled and distanced. From what you can tell though, based on Mingyu’s raised voice, it sounds like he’s arguing with someone. “Sorry,” he says a few minutes later.

“Did you get into a fight with your roommate or something?” you ask him.

“I…yeah. Kind of. Anyway, I have to head out now. I’ll call you later, okay? Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Mingyu ends the call and you sigh, closing your eyes and trying to find sleep again. It doesn’t come, though, and after half an hour of rolling around in bed, you resign yourself to getting up.

You stare at your phone as you stir your coffee fifteen minutes later. According to his schedule, Mingyu has classes until five, so he won’t be calling you anytime soon.

Knowing that doesn’t make you any less frustrated at the stubbornly black screen, uninterrupted by calls or texts.

You’re such a mess of nerves. Maybe this is why Jiwoo keeps staring at her phone whenever she thinks you won’t notice. You have always been slightly annoyed by it, telling her to just call Jihoon if she missed him so badly, but now you understand when she had retorted back, “It doesn’t work like that.”

Before, you had rolled your eyes and smirked at her, saying, “I’m pretty sure that’s how a cell phone works, Jiwoo.”

But that was before. Before you met Kim Mingyu, before you had listened to him talk all day, before you realized you could stare at him all day and never get tired of the sight of him.

Frustrated at yourself and how you had become so needy in just one day, you toss your phone onto the couch in the living room and head back into your room, determined to do _anything_ but think about Kim Mingyu for the next hour until you head to class.

You grab the book that you’ve been reading and open up to where you had left off. Reading has always been an escape, a way to leave all your worries behind and ignore who you are for the moment. It works; you’re lost in a world of rebels and magic until you casually look up at the clock—fifteen minutes to ten.

“Fuck,” you grumble, rushing to change into the first clean clothes you can grab—dark blue jeans and a plain maroon tee. How is it that you almost always manage to be late?

You shove your books into your backpack and run out of the apartment, stopping only to grab your keys and lock the door. You’re honestly surprised that you haven’t gotten pulled over for speeding yet, seeing how you’re always rushing to get to school on time. Knock on wood.

It isn’t until you’re sitting at the back of the lecture hall, trying to catch your breath as the professor walks in that you realize you have forgotten your phone at home. You groan, rubbing at your forehead. Well, you’ll live. It’s not like you _need_ your phone to survive. You’re actually able to focus in class today, without having to worry about texts from a certain tall, black-haired boy. You leave class feeling much calmer. You have two hours until your next class, so you buy a sandwich from one of the school’s food chains. Overpriced and not the best tasting, admittedly, but you’re hungry and too lazy to walk off campus for food.

You eat quickly; sitting alone among groups of friends is never fun, especially when all of your own friends are either in class, at home, or working right now. Mingyu must be all the way across campus, you muse, considering how you can’t smell him at all.

You walk out to the Quad, intending to find a shady spot to sit in and read. The weather today is perfect; it’s sunny and warm, with a slight breeze. You’re honestly surprised that not many people are out here, enjoying the weather. You sigh contentedly as you find an empty spot and make yourself comfortable in the grass as you pull out the novel you had stuffed in your backpack this morning. You’re so engrossed in the story that you don’t notice that someone joining you until you hear a male voice ask, “What are you reading?”

Just as you turn to face him, a hand covers your eyes and another pins both of your arms behind your back. “Get up,” he snarls into your ear as someone binds your hands together.

You comply, trying to figure out where he’s standing by stumbling as you get up. You realize he’s almost directly behind you, you realize. So the moment you find your balance, you stomp as hard as you can on what you can only hope is his foot.

He curses and lets go of you. Momentarily blinded by the light and the fact that you can now see, you pause for a fraction of a second before you run. It costs you, though, because you feel someone pulling at your hair and all that runs through your mind is the sheer _pain_ from the force of the person yanking on your hair.

He keeps pulling, forcing you to walk back with him, until he faces you against the tree and shoves you toward it. You cry out from the impact because _god damn_ , trees are _solid_ and that hurt like hell, but the stranger pays no attention as his elbow digs into your back, keeping you pinned to the tree. He slips a blindfold over your eyes, though how he manages to do it with one hand even as you struggle as hard as you can boggles you.

“Alright, let’s go,” he says, and you stiffen. Go where? Who is he? What does he want? 

Too late, your mind fills with regrets. _I should have done track and field. If only I were a fast runner, I could probably try to break away—or maybe martial arts. Yeah, that sounds better. If I knew martial arts I could kick their asses and get away—_

“Get her things,” he shouts at someone. So there are two people, at the very least. How are you supposed to get away now? And dammit, you don’t even have your phone on you—

“I’m your partner, Jeonghan. Not your slave,” the second guy whines.

The one holding on to you—Jeonghan—shoves you forward mercilessly. “So you say, Seungkwan. Maybe if you were more competent I would respect you enough to treat you like an equal. But you’re not.” 

You can hear Seungkwan’s grumbling from afar, and Jeonghan pushes you again. “What do you want?” you try asking him.

“It’s too complicated to try and explain to you,” he says much too cheerfully for your liking. “All you need to know is that if we don’t get what we want by tomorrow, you’re going bye-bye.” 

“Try to explain, then. Don’t you think it’s rude to just take me and tell me I’m going to die without telling me why?” You don’t know where this nerve is coming from, but you’re glad you’re still able to think properly. Between now and wherever he’s trying to take you, you need to get away.

“Demanding, aren’t we? I wonder if that’s why Kim Mingyu likes you.”

Mingyu? What does he have to do with anything? Your stomach drops, and you’re not so sure you want to know. Nevertheless, you try to figure out where Jeonghan is, based on his voice and where he’s pushing you from. You guess he’s somewhere on your right, behind you, and you get ready to kick him when he grabs your hair again, yanking savagely. 

“We will have none of that, missy.” He pulls you to a stop. “Now bend your head. We’re getting in the car.”

Car? No. You need to leave _now_. You kick back, hoping it lands on him, preferably between his legs—but whatever works. You feel your foot hit something solid, and Jeonghan grunts in pain. And you run, adrenaline pumping through your body, ignoring the pain of getting hair ripped out.

You count the seconds, _one two three four five six seven_ , putting one foot in front of the other and running blindly as you pray to any and all gods above to let you get away.

But maybe you’ve sinned too much, or are impure, or _something_ because at _ten_ someone tackles you to the ground and you feel a million scrapes as you hit the sidewalk. You’re surprised you haven’t broken your neck and died as the person on top of you swears. Seungkwan, then. “You little _bitch_ , my life is hard enough without having to run around—”

“Then you could just let me go and you won’t have to worry about running around chasing me—”

“Shut _up_!” he snarls, and drags you up by your hair. “Just shut up and follow me and get in the car. It’ll make life easier for everyone—for you, for me, for that dick Jeonghan—though he deserves to experience living hell—and even for that bastard Kim Mingyu.” He sighs, pushing you forward, but not as forcefully as Jeonghan. “It’s not like I want to do this,” he mumbles. “Mingyu’s a decent person. When he wants to be.”

“I don’t get it,” you tell him. “What does this have to do with Mingyu?”

Seungkwan laughs humorlessly. “Oh, you poor thing. What have you gotten yourself into?” he sighs. “My advice would be to ditch that guy the moment you get out of this.”

“But what—”

You stop as you hear Jeonghan’s angry voice. “You little—” There’s a sting against your left cheek, an impact that forces your head to the side.

Jeonghan has just slapped you. Hard.

“Get. In. The car,” he snarls, shoving your head down and pushing you into a waiting car. Your legs hang out of the door, but he shoves them so hard your knees automatically bend. The door slams closed against your feet.

You know better than to ask questions with Jeonghan around, especially when he’s this pissed. But Seungkwan seems more sympathetic of the two, especially by himself, so you promise yourself to try to get him alone and confront him about what the hell is going on, or even better, guilt him into helping you if you can.

You try to memorize all the left and right turns they make, but after a while your head starts spinning and you lose focus. After what seems like an hour later, the car finally stops and you hear the two front car doors open. You feel someone trying to help you sit up, and seeing how gentle the movements are, you guess it’s Seungkwan. You let him tug you out of the car and close the door before following him to…somewhere.

You feel a draft of cool air, and you shiver. You must be in some kind of building now, but how you’re ever going to find your way out, you have no idea. Left, left, right, left. You try to memorize all the turns. But then you’re in an elevator and you have no way of knowing how many floors it is.

You turn left and walk a few steps before Seungkwan pulls you to a stop. “Get her situated. I’ll let Seungcheol know we have her,” Jeonghan tells Seungkwan.

You hear him stalk off, and Seungkwan waits a few moments before turning you left. You hear the sound of a door opening and he puts a hand against your back, indicating that you should walk forward. “You can stop,” he says, and you hear the sound of the door closing.

Seungkwan unties your hands and tugs off the blindfold. You blink, taking in your surroundings. It’s a large room, dark brown wooden walls with soft red carpet and a giant bed in the corner of the room. There’s a huge window, too, and you walk over to look outside. There’s nothing but grass around for miles, and as you look down, you realize that you’re much too high up…

“You can’t jump out that window,” Seungkwan says. You flinch; you didn’t notice him come beside you. “Not unless you want to die. And that’s if you can even open the window. As far as I know, it’s glued shut.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” you ask him, genuinely puzzled.

He runs a hand through his burgundy hair, looking troubled. “Like I said, Mingyu isn’t a terrible person. And you…you haven’t done anything. You don’t even know anything. It feels…wrong to be doing this to an innocent.”

“Doing what?” you press. But when it’s clear he won’t answer, you gesture to the room. “I thought I was going to be locked up. Tied to a chair, or something. What is all this?”

“Seungcheol likes to brag that he ‘has class.’” Seungkwan eyes the bed. “And I wouldn’t…sleep on that, if I were you.”

“What? Why?”

“Just don’t.”

You decide not to question him. “Okay, but…” You lower your voice. “Can you at least tell me why I’m here? Don’t you think I deserve to know?”

Seungkwan sighs and plops into the armchair near the window, rubbing at his face. “You know Kim Mingyu.” He doesn’t say it like a question.

“Yes.”

Seungkwan looks at you with what seems like pity in his eyes. “You’re better off not getting involved with him.”

You throw up your hands in frustration. “I’m not ‘involved’ with him. I’ve met him twice. All within the span of the past two days.”

“I don’t know, but it sure looked like you were more than just acquaintances.”

You feel a blush creep up into your cheeks and you look away from Seungkwan. “I’m not seeing how all this relates to Mingyu.”

“It’s kind of a long story. Mingyu used to be one of us, but then he started going on about how he was tired of this kind of life and wanted to quit. The thing is, you don’t just ‘quit.’ So he managed to convince another one of us, Wonwoo, to join him and one day they just left. Started their own organization too, probably hoping to rival us. Seungcheol, our leader, didn’t take it too kindly.”

“So he thinks he can use me as leverage against Mingyu?” you ask incredulously.

“Can and will.”

“But what does he want?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Again, why are you telling me all this?”

Seungkwan looks down at his hands. “Honestly…I want out. I wanted to go with Mingyu and Wonwoo, but…I was too scared. So I stayed. And now I don’t know if I’ll ever get out.”

You take a moment to absorb the information until it hits you. “Wonwoo?” you repeat. “Jeon Wonwoo?”

“You know him?” Seungkwan asks, eyes narrowed.

“I’ve…run into him a few times,” you answer. Not completely a lie, but you have a hard time imagining sweet, caring Wonwoo as a part of all this. You lean your back against the window, looking around the room. “What exactly is it that you do that makes you want to stop so badly? What is this…organization?”

It takes a while for him to answer. “Everything you would consider, wrong, corrupt, evil…we do it. All things shady, all the dirty work…we do it, at a price. A very high price, which is why we’re usually only involved with corrupted people.”

You’re not sure how to react to that. You’re shocked, but…somehow it just confirms what you’ve been suspecting. There’s more to Mingyu than what meets the eye.

“Kind of gives you an idea of the scale of trouble you’re in, doesn’t it? I’ve seen cold-blooded murder up close more times than I can count.” Seungkwan sighs and leans back against the chair, closing his eyes. “By the way, there’s a bathroom connected to this room. Spare clothes in the giant closet there.” He cracks open his eyes and points with his chin at a set of wooden double doors across from the bed. “Seungcheol makes sure to wash them every so often so they should be pretty clean. Though they _are_ one-size-fits-all, so…probably big on you.”

The entire situation is so absurd that you break out laughing—hysterical, uncontrollable laughter. “You’re telling me,” you say between laughs, “that the boss of a murdering gang keeps clothes fresh and clean for his victims and provides them with a suite room and toiletries.”

Seungkwan cracks a smile. “Well. I never claimed he made any sense.”

You walk to the closet to inspect the clothes: all giant gray hoodies and gray sweats. You pull out a hoodie and sniff at it cautiously. Seungkwan was right; it smells like normal detergent and is even soft. “But why?” you whisper.

“Despite everything, I think Seungcheol realizes that you didn’t do anything wrong besides meeting Mingyu. He’s not terrible at heart, either—I think too many years in this business has made him harder and colder than he really is.” Seungkwan moves to stand behind you. “The bathroom’s over there,” he says, pointing at a door so camouflaged with the wall that if not for him, you wouldn’t have realized it was there at all. “I recommend covering up, though. Seungcheol has cameras installed in there.”

“Then what’s the point of telling me there’s a bathroom?” you ask, rolling your eyes. Despite yourself, and despite your situation, you’re developing a soft spot for Seungkwan.

He laughs, strolling over to the door. “Just in case you can figure out how to shower with the shower curtain wrapped around you.” He opens the door and walks out, before sticking his head back in. “Oh, and while you can do whatever you want in the room, you can’t walk out here. The moment anyone spots you outside of this room, you’re no longer going to be treated like a guest.”

And with that, Seungkwan closes the door with a soft click. 

You sigh. It’s not as if you feel much like a guest right now, being kidnapped and thrown and dragged around like a rag doll. But it could be worse. Much worse, you remind yourself as you walk into the bathroom. You find some towels that look clean and smell clean, so you wet them and walk outside to the room. You pray that no one opens the door before taking off your jeans to try to inspect your injuries from earlier.

There’s a huge gash on both legs from mid-thigh to your knee, and several cuts elsewhere. You use the towel to clean yourself up as best as you can, hissing whenever the water stings the wounds. When you’re done, you pull your jeans back on and head to the bathroom to rinse off the towel and repeat the process for the upper half of your body. There are mostly only small scrapes, except the ones on your forearms, and you wince as you feel the sting.

Once you’re fairly convinced that you’ve cleaned yourself up the best that you can, you throw the towel into the sink and feel a draft of cold air, but you can’t for the life of you find any air vents. Shrugging, you slip on one of the gray hoodies. As Seungkwan had predicted, it’s huge on you—sleeves reaching far past your hands and the sweater itself ending at mid-thigh. It’s soft, though, and warm, and it smells nice, so you settle on the chair Seungkwan had sat on.

Surprisingly, despite your fear and the anxiety as you think about the day’s events, you find yourself drifting off. The slam of the door wakes you right up, though, and you sit straight up as you study the figure walking toward you. Tall, black hair, and dressed in black jeans and a white button-down—you almost mistake him for Mingyu but you realize that Mingyu is taller, and has beautiful golden skin whereas this man is pale. And what’s more, you can’t smell him. So not Mingyu.

“You look comfortable enough,” he says as he stops in front of you.

You look up at him, directly in the eyes. “Who are you?” you ask.

He laughs, crossing his arms. “Choi Seungcheol, pleasure to meet you.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t say the same to you.”

“Ohh, I like your spunk,” Seungcheol says, smirking and leaning against the wall. “Tell me, is that how you got Mingyu to fall for you?”

You roll your eyes, tired of hearing the same thing all day. And something tells you that you shouldn’t tell any of them the truth. “Look, I’ve said this to everyone else, and I’ll tell you the same thing. I met him _two days ago_. I don’t know where you’re getting the idea that I mean anything to him—”

“Kim Mingyu isn’t the type to take just _anyone_ around with him all day,” Seungcheol hisses, suddenly right in front of your face.

How would he know? Had someone followed you all day yesterday? “What do you even want from him?” you ask. Seungcheol hadn’t appeared scary before, with his smile and tone of voice, but now you can see how he is the leader of this ruthless organization. He appears friendly; that’s the trap. But you can see that he’s calculating and won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to get what he wants.

“I want him to get rid of his business,” Seungcheol replies, inspecting his nails and leaning against the wall again. “He was my right-hand man. And much as I hate to admit it, he did a damn good job. The guys here are good, too, but Mingyu…he was always in a class of his own.”

“Obviously there must have been a reason for him to leave.”

You realize your mistake when Seungcheol narrows his eyes at you. “Cute. Sticking up for your boyfriend now, are you?”

You try to backtrack. “He’s not my—”

“Sure he’s not. We’ll see about that tomorrow. I already told him I have you. He should be stopping by in the morning—I told him noon, at the latest. And if he’s a no-show…” Seungcheol draws his thumb against his neck in a straight line, smirking down at you. “Sorry, honey, no hard feelings, but you’re gone.”

 _No hard feelings. Right_. “What are you going to do to him?”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “’He’s not my boyfriend,’” he mocks. “But look at you, worried sick about him.”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to lie through your teeth. You only hope it comes across as sincere. “I don’t think he’s going to give up his business, whatever it is, just because of me.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, obviously not believing you, but you continue on. “He’s not my boyfriend. That’s the truth.” Not _yet_ , anyway. “I just like him. A lot. And I finally got the courage to approach him yesterday, and I swear to God, if that’s what all this is about—look, I don’t understand what’s going on, but if you’re kidnapping me because I finally somehow convinced Kim Mingyu to go get lunch with me, I don’t think you’re going to have much luck. That guy runs through girls like crazy.” Tears fill your eyes, and you hope it seems like you’re the self-absorbed girl you’re trying to paint yourself as, crying over the unfairness of your situation. But you can’t help but worry about how this very well might destroy Mingyu, especially after hearing Seungkwan’s story. You don’t know how this works, but if this is anything like a gang, then based on stories and movies, you don’t just _leave_ a gang.

“Tough luck,” Seungcheol says, devoid of sympathy. “I’m not interested in his love life. Or yours, surprising, I know. I’m not going to _do_ anything to him. We’ll just have a nice chat. And if he cooperates, everyone’s happy.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

He gives you a hard look. “He will.”

-

There’s a quick knock on your door a while after Seungcheol leaves. You’re too numb to even look up to see who it is, but Seungkwan says, “Hey. Dinner time.” He sets a tray of food on the small table in the corner of the room.

“No thanks.”

“It’s not poisoned, I swear. Look,” he says, opening up one of the plates to reveal bread. He tears off a piece and pops it in his mouth, chewing.

It’s only when he looks at you for a while that he notices your expression. Seungkwan sighs and comes to kneel in front of you. “Look,” he whispers urgently. “It’s going to be fine. Actually, I’m supposed to help Mingyu sneak in here tonight.” He looks at his watch. “In half an hour, to be exact. So eat up, wipe off all those tears, and get ready.”

“You—” you start, but Seungkwan hushes you.

“Shhh!” He looks around, bewildered. “Eat. I’ll see you later.” Seungkwan gets up and crosses the room, looking back one last time and mouthing the words “good luck” before leaving and closing the door softly behind him.

You pad over to the table where Seungkwan had put the food—it’s tomato soup and a plate of bread. It’s not your favorite thing to eat, but it’s still food, and your heart goes out to Seungkwan for trying his best to be nice to you even in this godforsaken place.

When you finish, you wait impatiently. Seungkwan had said half an hour, but it feels as though an hour has already passed. When what feels like another hour has passed, your mind starts wandering. What happened? Did they get caught?

You open your eyes to see sunlight streaming in. You don’t even remember having fallen asleep, but based on how much your neck and back are cramping, you must have been asleep for hours. Just as you stand up and stretch, Jeonghan walks in without knocking, with a smirk on his face.

You lower your arms and glare at him. Seeming unaffected, he approaches you, grin growing all the wider. “What do you—” You cry out as he pounces on you without any warning, pressing you against the chair and crushing your face against the rough surface. He ties your hands together so tightly behind your back it hurts to even try to move them. ****You try to kick at him, but you’re in such an awkward position that there’s no force behind your attempted kicks. Jeonghan blindfolds you easily, and pulls you up off the chair using the rope. “This is much better than yesterday,” he purrs in your ear, and you fight the urge to shiver.

“You son of a bitch,” you breathe as he shoves you forward roughly.

He kicks at the back of your knees harshly and you fall forward, but he grabs you by the hood of your sweater, almost choking you. “Keep insulting me,” Jeonghan taunts.

“That’s enough,” Seungcheol’s voice rings out from a distance. Are you in a hallway? “Just get her down there.”

Down where? But Jeonghan just grunts and drags you down the hallway, and it’s all you can do to keep from screaming at him to stop. He pulls you by the rope on your hands, and it seems to be getting tighter and tighter as he does. You feel your hands numbing, and you start praying to every god above to give you strength as unwanted tears stream down your cheeks.

Jeonghan pulls you into the elevator and you’re grateful for the temporary relief from pain as you hear the whirring and the feeling of being lifted up as the elevator goes down. Then the doors open and he’s dragging you again. You lose track of time and directions until he stops and shoves you roughly into a hard, cold chair. He keeps one hand holding on to your hair as a warning and you feel him wrap a rope around you, presumably tying you to the chair.

He releases you as he finishes. “Now the fun begins,” he says, chuckling, and you begin to ask him what kind of fun when you feel a giant bundle of cloth being shoved into your mouth.

You try to protest, to scream, but the cloth stops you from speaking, and after a while, your voice is hoarse. “Wonderful,” Jeonghan comments, petting your head, stroking your hair, and you try to yank your head away from his hand. But the rope is too tight, and you can’t move, so you’re left fuming as Jeonghan laughs his sadistic laugh.

“Jeonghan,” a voice snaps. Seungcheol. Jeonghan drops his hand. “I told you to bring her here because she’s our bargaining chip. _Not_ a toy.”

“Oh, but that’s no fun,” Jeonghan replies, tone bordering on a whine.

“I don’t care if it’s no fun,” Seungcheol replies, voice tight with exasperation. “Don’t touch her unless I tell you to.”

You hear the sound of the door opening and closing. Seungkwan’s voice comes from the other end of the room—if it’s a room. All you can tell is that he seems far away. “So what now?”

“Now we wait,” Seungcheol replies, and you hear a slight whooshing sound from behind you, like someone sitting on a couch.

“You think he’ll actually listen?” Jeonghan asks. “According to her, there isn’t even any obligation for him to.”

“Why, because they’re not dating?” Seungcheol answers.

“Yeah.”

Seungcheol chuckles. “You don’t know Mingyu very well then, do you? He’s always been soft. _Too_ soft, in my opinion. Even if they’re not together, he’s not the type to let an innocent get hurt in the crossfire. Isn’t that right, Seungkwan?”

Seungkwan remains silent.

“There’s half an hour left,” Jeonghan pipes up after a long silence. “You really think he’ll show?”

“Well, why don’t we give him a call?” Seungcheol says. “Seungkwan?”

You hear some rustling, most likely Seungkwan taking out his phone. And then you hear the dialing tone and you wait breathlessly.

The dialing tone ends. Silence.

Your heart sinks at the silence, and you assume that Mingyu hasn’t answered. But then: “What do you want?”

“Where are you?” Seungkwan asks in a low voice, and Seungcheol chuckles behind you.

“I don’t see how that concerns you,” Mingyu replies, and you hear the dark humor in his voice.

You half-hope he doesn’t come.

But you’re not sure you want to die.

“So you’re saying you’re actually going to let this girl die,” Seungcheol cuts in. You hadn’t heard him cross the room, but he must have, because his voice now seems farther away.

“It’s ridiculous that you think I’m going to dig my own grave for some _girl_ ,” Mingyu sneers, and for some reason, even though you partially wanted him to say this, it stings.

“So you’re not coming.”

“No.”

“Then you’re going to have to live with the consequences of your decision,” Seungcheol says, and hangs up, but you can tell he had not been expecting this.

“Take her blindfold off,” Seungcheol barks at someone, and someone unties it. You blink, letting your eyes adjust to the light to see Seungcheol standing in front of you, frowning.

“I didn’t want to do this,” he continues, reaching down to unbuckle his belt and your eyes widen with fright. He ignores you, snapping the belt against the cement floor with a _crack_. “Call him again,” Seungcheol orders Seungkwan, stretching his arms, the belt swinging around like a black snake.

_Crack._

Seungcheol walks slowly towards you as the dial tone goes on and on.

_Crack._

Step. 

Mingyu isn’t picking up.

_Crack._

You’re going to die here, you can feel it. You look around and see Jeonghan’s amused smirk. You beg Seungcheol with your eyes not to do it. Seungkwan refuses to even look at you as he stares at the phone in his hand.

_Crack._

“What do you want now?” Mingyu’s exasperated voice seems to echo across the room.

And a line of pain bursts across your body, from your left shoulder to your right hip, a path of pure fire running across your body, burning you.

You do the only thing you can do.

You scream.  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHA so this is the "official" end of Sillage, but I'm going to stick an epilogue on really soon so heh

### Words: 8,327

“What is that?” Mingyu drawls from the other end of the room, once you’ve stopped screaming. He sounds unaffected, unhurried.

_Unworried._

“Repercussions,” Seungcheol snarls, cracking the belt against the floor again.

You whimper despite your best efforts to remain strong, because you’ve already felt the pain of the belt once and you might just lose your mind if he keeps at it. You can already feel yourself shaking.

“I thought I already made it clear that I wasn’t going to come.”

“Then don’t,” Seungcheol replies lightly. “But you might as well enjoy the show.”

“What show?” Mingyu says in a tight voice. He sounds like he’s restraining himself from shouting into the phone, and you know you’re not the only one who can hear it as Seungcheol smirks, the glint in his eyes victorious.

Seungcheol draws the belt across you again, this time from your right shoulder to your left hip, and you scream again. It seems worse than the first time, a kind of burning, searing pain that words can’t seem to describe. Your vision becomes blurry as tears automatically flood your eyes and flow down your cheeks.

“I thought you were above this,” Mingyu seethes.

Seungcheol only laughs. “A desperate man has no boundaries, my friend. A fact you should know well.”

He brings the belt across you again. You see red, and you swear you hear a popping sound in your throat when you scream yet again.

“So you use an innocent to get to me.”

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

“Like hell it is.”

The belt comes. Again. You start to feel lightheaded with the force of your screams, and a tiny part of you hopes that the next whip will knock you out, because then at least you won’t feel the pain. Won’t feel the way your entire body is screaming, shaking, burning up.

“So you’re not coming.”

“No.”

“Very well,” Seungcheol replies, dropping the belt with a snap and walking around to the back of the chair. You can’t see him, so you flinch when he takes one of your hands and runs his thumb down the back of it, from wrist to middle finger, lingering before he lets go softly.

“I hear you like pretty hands,” Seungcheol calls, walking over to Seungkwan.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. I’ll send you a little present. And then after that,” Seungcheol continues, ignoring Mingyu, “perhaps the arm? You liked arms, too. Though I guess that wouldn’t quite be as nice a gift, with the hand missing…” You shudder, blinking through your tears. “Maybe the leg would be nicer, hmm?”

“You’re rather grotesque, aren’t you?” Mingyu says warily.

“You’re the one who forced me,” Seungcheol replies cheerily. “See you in half an hour.”

You hear the call end, and you close your eyes. You’re not ready to deal with this anymore—not the belt, not Seuncheol, definitely not Kim Mingyu.

You flinch again when you feel pressure on the top of your head. When you open your eyes, you see that it’s Seungcheol, patting your head. “Did I scare you, honey?”

You don’t answer, instead staring at the finger that he trails down your face—your forehead, your cheekbone, passing over your lip, and ending at your chin, holding it so that you’re forced to look up at him. And then he leans down. Close. So close. So close you can see where light hits his eyes and turns them almost golden, so close you can count the eyelashes on his eyes.

Too close.

“Get out of my face,” you hiss, struggling to pull away.

“You don’t get to make demands here,” Seungcheol replies, mirth in his eyes. “I let you stay in a nice room because I wanted to. I fed you because I wanted to. I whipped you because I wanted to.” He leans closer, forcing you to stay still as he whispers to your face, “I’ll beat you if I want to, I’ll kill you if I want to. And I’ll kiss you if I want to.”

With that, he closes the distance and kisses you so forcefully that all of your struggles are useless—the rope digging into your arms, your hands, as you twist this way and that, and yet Seungcheol refuses to let go. His hand, which has snaked its way around to the back of your neck, tightens, and the fingers on his other hand dig painfully into your shoulder.

When he forces your mouth open, you do the only thing you can think of: you bite down on his lip. Hard. Hard enough to draw blood, and you can taste the thick liquid running down your throat, the sickening coppery tang almost making you choke as he pulls away with a curse, wiping at his bloodied lower lip.

Jeonghan, behind you, laughs. “I told you she’s a feisty one, Seungcheol.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Jeonghan.” You can see anger—true, pure, undiluted _anger_ —in his eyes as he glares down at you. “I was going to be nice,” he growls.

“ _Nice_?” you scoff. “You, tying me up, whipping me with a belt—you, forcing a kiss on me—you, _threatening to chop me up limb by limb_ —nice?” You turn your head and spit on the floor. You see with great satisfaction that it’s pinkish with blood. His blood.

You don’t see his punch coming, though you can’t really say it was unexpected. You are not, however, prepared for the pain that suddenly throbs along your jaw, and you taste blood again. This time, it isn’t Seungcheol’s.

Just as you’re about to spit at him again, the door slams open. Or rather, down—someone has kicked the wooden door right off its hinges.

Kim Mingyu strolls in, dressed impeccably in a black suit and a white dress shirt with the top few buttons unbuttoned. The smell of him—today it’s a warm soothing lemon, with an underlying current of mint so sharp you’re tempted to sneeze—floods the room. “Let her go,” he says calmly, not even bothering to glance at you.

On the other hand, Wonwoo, following a second behind Mingyu and dressed in a black suit with a black dress shirt, locks eyes with you the moment he kicks the door out of his way. His gaze is hard, angry, but softens when he sees you.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—or maybe scream again. But nothing comes out as your eyes find their way back to Mingyu, standing straight and tall, looking as relaxed as ever while he glares at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol, on the other hand—you can see the tension in his shoulders as he leans down to pick up the belt that he had discarded. “Why should I?” he replies as he straightens up, looking Mingyu in the eye.

“You wanted her to get me here. I’m here.” Mingyu turns his hands so that his palms face Seungcheol, and shrugs. Then, for the first time since his dramatic arrival, he looks at you. “Let her go.”

He may have seemed fine, acting like coming here was a detour he’s been forced to make. But as his eyes lock on yours, you see the tension in his face, the hard set of his fine features. You see unspoken worries and apologies and promises as he scans you quickly—so quickly you doubt anyone else would have been able to see it—and he turns his attention back to Seungcheol.

“Untie her,” Seungcheol barks. With a sigh, Jeonghan moves behind you to free you from the chair—as roughly as he possibly can. The moment he finishes, he shoves you out of the chair and you land painfully on your hands and knees. To your right, Jeonghan folds his long, lean body into the spot you had just occupied.

Mingyu glances at Wonwoo, who stands at his side, and without a word Wonwoo approaches you. He stops about a foot in front of you and offers his hand while watching Jeonghan warily. Jeonghan simply shoots him a grin and waves.

Ignoring Jeonghan’s antics, you grab Wonwoo’s hand and let him pull you up. You sway as you get to your feet, still trembling slightly and lightheaded, and he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you from falling. “How badly are you hurt?” he mumbles, low enough that only you can hear.

You can’t answer him; you only shake your head slightly, because honestly, you don’t know how badly you’re hurt. All you know is that you’re in pain, but Mingyu is here, and you feel relief but at the same time guilt because he’s here and he’s risking his life by just standing in front of Seungcheol—

“We’ve had a nice long chat, Y/N and I,” Seungcheol drawls, crossing his arms.

“Did you now,” Mingyu says, raising an eyebrow. He sounds bored, as if that’s the last possible thing he could care about, but you see the simmering frustration in his eyes.

Apparently, so does Seungcheol, because he smirks and pushes. “Yeah,” he replies, wiping at his bottom lip again. “She’s also a good kisser. Quite enthralling. Tell me, is she always that restless when you kiss her? You know, the little gasp as you first go in and then she goes all squirmish?”

“You think I’ve kissed her?” Mingyu asks Seungcheol, but he directs his gaze over to you and your heart sinks when you see that his face is full of disgust. Even if this is all just an act, the disgust on his face is real enough. And it hurts.

“Why, haven’t you?” Seungcheol asks nonchalantly, inspecting his nails.

“What reason would I have to kiss her?” Mingyu responds, rolling his eyes. “I met her for the first time two days ago. She means nothing to me.” He looks at you again, meaningfully. “As I’m sure she’s told you.”

Wonwoo’s arm tightens around you.

“Sure, but hearing it and believing it are two completely different things, Mingyu.” Seungcheol turns around and flops back onto the sofa behind Jeonghan. “You’ve gone soft. Getting a bit romantic, eh? Two days,” Seungcheol scoffs. “There was a time when you didn’t even have to get to know a girl for two minutes before you were trying to bed her.”

Mingyu sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Just get to the point, Seungcheol. What do you want?”

“What I’ve been wanting for the last twenty times we’ve talked, Mingyu. You.”

“And like I’ve said for the last twenty times, _no_. Sorry, but I just don’t swing your way.” His lips quirk up ever so slightly at the last sentence.

Seungcheol slams his hand on the sofa arm and shoots up, crossing the distance between him and Mingyu so fast that in between one blink and the next, all you saw was Seungcheol lounging on the sofa, and then Seungcheol grabbing Mingyu by his shirt collar.

“Let go of me,” Mingyu says calmly.

Seungcheol looks half-crazed. Hell, scratch that—he must be out of his mind with desperation if he’s gone from the cool, confident man you had met yesterday to this beast today. Wonwoo tenses beside you, and you can tell that he’s ready to throw Seungcheol off Mingyu if he needs to.

“Let. Go. Of me,” Mingyu reiterates. “Or so help me God, I don’t care if you were once my best friend—I will break your neck like you so kindly did to Eri.”

“The fact that you brought up the friendship tells me otherwise, Mingyu.” But he lets go.

Mingyu stares down at him. “For the last time, Seungcheol, I’m not coming back. I’m sick of you and your twisted ways.”

“Of course, so that’s why you went ahead and started your own gang to deal with things in your own twisted ways.”

“I’d rather deal with things on my own terms than take orders from someone else.”

“You were second in command, Mingyu. You basically commanded everyone anyway.”

“But I commanded everyone based on your orders. Not mine.”

“It’s not like I never consulted you—”

“You never listened! You _never_ listen to reason, to logic, and you bulldoze your way through with brute force. Do you know how many people we lost over the years because you were too stubborn and proud to know when to be subtle?” Mingyu takes a breath, looking up at the ceiling. “We’ve already had this argument too many times, Seungcheol. My answer is still the same. No.”

“But I’m not giving you a choice this time,” Seungcheol says. “Jeonghan.”

At hearing his name, Jeonghan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun—and points it at you. “God damn it all,” Wonwoo mutters beside you, arm tightening and pulling you right up against him.

“It’s a yes, or Jeonghan shoots,” Seungcheol states.

Mingyu’s eyebrows draw together.

“Five.”

“Listen to me,” Wonwoo whispers hurriedly into your ear, trying his best to make his lips move as little as possible. “At my signal, drop to the ground. Just drop.”

“Four.”

“And when I shout, ‘now,’ I want you to run for the door, okay? Go straight through and don’t look back. Mingyu and I will be right behind you.”

“Three.”

“But—” you start.

“We don’t have time for this. Don’t look back. If we’re not behind you, there are people out there waiting for you.”

“Two.”

“They’ll take you to the car. Don’t ask questions, just go, alright?”

“No,” Mingyu says, cutting Seungcheol off.

And then all hell breaks loose. Wonwoo shouts something at you, presumably to get down, since he does as well, and you drop to the ground as Wonwoo and Mingyu both pull out revolvers that they had hidden in their jacket pockets.

“Go!” Wonwoo yells as he gets up and starts aiming at Jeonghan.

You don’t question him. You don’t look back. You only trust that he knows what he’s doing, and so does Mingyu. You run towards the broken door and sprint out into the hallway, ignoring the feeling like your entire front side is being set on fire. You turn left without having time to question your decision, but it must be the right way because as Wonwoo had promised, two men in suits are waiting anxiously, hearing the gunshots.

“Let’s go!” one of them shouts, grabbing your right arm and pulling you along as they lead the way.

“Will they be okay?” you manage to as, gasping as you run through Seungcheol’s complicated home. Is it even called a home? Hideout? Compound?

“They should be,” the one holding your arm answers.

The lemon scent finds you again as you hear running footsteps behind you, and you turn to look, as well as the two others. You feel a weight lift off your shoulders as you recognize Mingyu and Wonwoo sprinting side by side behind you, their long legs closing the distance quickly.

“Go, hurry up!” Wonwoo shouts as he catches up, and as he gets closer, you see that Wonwoo’s supporting Mingyu, whose right hand is pressed against his waist. “I got that psycho Jeonghan in the leg, so it should slow him down, and Seungkwan is still the indecisive idiot that he is. But Seungcheol—”

“I got him,” Mingyu answers from your left. “But in the arm, and his left at that, so let’s hurry.”

You see the wall to your left start crumbling dust, and Mingyu swears beside you. With alarm, you see that he’s breathing heavily. “He’s closing in on us,” he shouts at Wonwoo and the two others. “Wonwoo, Y/N, and I will take one car. Chan, Jun—take the other and make sure they’re not chasing us.”

“Got it,” says either Chan or Jun—you’re not sure which is which.

You find yourself outside, the wind blowing from your left, carrying with it Mingyu’s scent as it hits you. You follow them to the two black cars parked side by side. Mingyu opens the back door of one and says breathlessly to you, “Get in.”

You do, and he climbs in beside you, closing it behind him. Wonwoo gets in the driver’s seat as the other two guys take the other car. The only sound in the silence is the gasping breaths of the three of you. Wonwoo reaches his left hand and touches his right bicep gingerly, and when he pulls his fingers away you see they’re stained red. He curses softly, and your head starts spinning again because _they’ve both gotten hurt_. Because of _you_. You want to say something, maybe a thank you, maybe break out into sobs, but Wonwoo starts the car and reverses smoothly. He changes gears and suddenly you’re moving forward at such a high speed that the trees around you turn into blurs.

You close your eyes and let your head rest against the back of the seat. Mingyu is mostly silent, hissing as he inspects his waist. “How’s your arm?” he asks Wonwoo.

“It’s fine,” Wonwoo says, but you can see his grimace reflected through the rearview mirror. “It hurts like hell, but the bullet just grazed by.” He directs his gaze to Mingyu briefly, whistling softly. “How bad did he get you?”

Mingyu takes his jacket off and you see that a giant red splotch has appeared on the shirt where his ribcage might be. There’s a hole in the shirt, and you can see a bloody mess until he wads up the jacket and presses it against the area. “I don’t think the bullet’s stuck in me,” he says, teeth gritted.

You can’t bring yourself to look at the wound anymore, so you stare out the window.

“Y/N,” he finally says, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you.

You don’t feel like talking to him right now. Not after all that has happened, and your fear and confusion come crashing back on you wave after wave as the events unfold inside your head over and over. So you stay silent and try to ignore him.

“Y/N,” Mingyu says again, this time taking your hand gently and enveloping it between his two bigger, warmer ones. “Look at me. Please.”

You glance up at the rearview mirror, where you see Wonwoo’s worried eyes looking at you, but he quickly focuses on the road in front again and pointedly doesn’t look back at you. Instead, he turns on the radio and lets it play softly in the background.

Resigned, you turn your head to face Mingyu.

Unlike before, where he had appeared confident, cool, and put together, he now looks miserable. There’s sadness, frustration, worry, and anger lining his face as his eyes bore into yours.

His jacket sticks sadly to his side, a crumpled mess.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, and you can hear that he means it. “I’m sorry they found you. I’m sorry they hurt you. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, and I’m sorry for not getting to you sooner.” He looks down at your hand, and he laces his fingers through yours. “I’m sorry that I’m the reason you had to go through this. I wanted to bring you happiness and joy, everything that you brought me. But instead I brought upon you pain and misfortune, and misery, and for that I’ll never apologize enough.”

He places his free hand on your cheek, eyes tracing your face before he drops his hand and looks down again. “I didn’t realize you were missing until it was seven and you still didn’t pick up, didn’t even text back. So I tried tracing your phone, but—it just led me to your apartment.” Mingyu closes his eyes, pausing for a while. “I went out of my mind. I rationalized that you had just forgotten your phone at home and were out with friends or something, but then it was nine, and you still hadn’t answered. I started to get really worried, and just to be sure, I looked into Seungcheol’s group’s whereabouts and what they had been doing.

“I found out from Seungkwan that they had you after all. So I coerced him into helping me get in there to get you out. He was supposed to meet me at ten, but the bastard never showed up. Chickened out, I guess, or maybe he got caught, who knows.

“We were already on our way here when I got the call from Seungkwan. And after agreeing to help me, too—the next time I see him, I’m going to teach him a lesson. I hope you understand that I sounded cold and distant not because I didn’t care—of course I care, it’s _you_ we’re talking about, I was going insane—but because they would pounce at the slightest hint of weakness and we both wouldn’t have a chance.”

Of course you understand that. But knowing it doesn’t make it hurt any less, and you remain quiet.

Mingyu continues, “And that’s when I heard you screaming bloody murder, and my worst fears were realized, because Seungcheol is decent most of the time, but when he’s desperate enough…he’ll do anything to get what he wants. He’s a tricky, scheming, lying excuse of a human being.” His hand tightens, squeezing your fingers.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo warns, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

His hand relaxes a bit, and Mingyu looks at you sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry. Anyway, we just rushed to get in, and you know the rest from there.”

You nod.

He just looks at you, waiting until you’re ready to speak. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, and you study him. Why is it that Seungcheol wants him back so badly? Why does he refuse? But you know the answer to that already as you look at Mingyu and Wonwoo and recall how happy and relaxed they seemed before you knew this side of them. How you could feel that they are genuinely kind at heart. How you are always able to feel at ease in their presence.

But you say none of that. Instead, what comes out of your mouth, surprising both you and Mingyu, is, “I think you need a haircut.”

Wonwoo starts coughing vigorously from the seat in front of you, and Mingyu grins over at you. “I guess I do,” he says, fingering his too-long bangs.

Your cheeks turn red and you clear your throat. You try again. “I mean…thanks. For coming.”

“Of course I came,” Mingyu scoffs, brushing back a strand of your hair that’s fallen in front of your face. “You’re my soulmate.” He looks like he wants to continue, but you can tell by the way his eyes dart to Wonwoo for a split second that he’s mindful you have an audience. 

The three of you continue the rest of the way in silence. At one point, it feels so suffocating that you roll down the window to get fresh air in the car before Wonwoo warns you with an apologetic glance in the rearview mirror that you might be seen.

You roll the window back up without question.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you must have at some point, because Mingyu is gently shaking you awake. “We’re here,” he says quietly.

“Here?” you repeat.

“My house,” he clarifies. After a second, he amends, “Well, _our_ house. Wonwoo and I live together.”

Mingyu gets out of the car and walks around to open the door for you. You step out and almost fall again—but not because of your physical condition. It’s the sight in front of you that has your knees weak. Mingyu’s _mansion_ would have been more accurate a description, rather than “his house.” _House_ implies a normal-sized, cozy home for a family. _This_ , this monstrosity of a house in front of you—well, if you didn’t believe he was a mafia leader before, you do now.

“I thought you said you live in an apartment,” you choke out.

“Oh, I do!” he says cheerily beside you, and then winces, pressing his left hand against his side. He takes your hand in his other one and gently leads the way. Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen, and you assume that he’s already gone inside during the time you stood ogling the house. “But that’s where I stay for the sake of convenience for school. This is where most of my things are, and where I, uh, work.”

He seems to realize his mistake the moment he ends his sentence, as your awe fades and is replaced by slight horror at the mention of his “work.” Your hand goes slack in his, and he gets the hint—he reluctantly lets go of your hand, and he sighs and says softly, “I’m sorry. If you follow me, I’ll show you where your room is.” 

You follow him in silence, and you study his backside. His suit is slightly rumpled from the car ride, hair squashed flat where he’d rested it against the headrest. His shoulders are hunched, as if weighed down by your stare, your anger, the rage and fear and confusion that he knows you’ve left unspoken in the car.

The house is as nice inside as it is outside. Everything is neat and impeccably clean, with mahogany flooring and the walls painted in warm tones that exude a calming atmosphere. Mingyu leads you upstairs and into a room painted a soft rose color. A giant bed nearly overflowing with pillows greets you, with bedside tables on either side of it. As you step into the room, you see white closet doors at the far end of the room, as well as a white drawer near it.

Mingyu clears his throat from the doorframe, and you jump; he hasn’t followed you in, and you forgot he was even there. “The bathroom is right across the hall from you,” he says, pointing behind him. “Uh, there are some clean towels in the drawer closest to the door, so you can use those.”

“Okay,” you say, staring stupidly at him.

“I’m, uh…going to go now,” he stammers, taking a step back with each word he says and pointing to his left.

“Okay,” you say again, closing the door as he leaves.

You approach the closet and open it, not really expecting much. Instead, you’re greeted by the sight of a few of your shirts and jeans. Confused, you pull open a few drawers and see that they also contain some of your belongings.

You cringe at the thought of Mingyu or Wonwoo touching your things, but breathe out a sigh of relief as you spot your favorite clothes to sleep in: black sweats and a worn gray tee with a giant smiley face on it.

You grab it and head into the bathroom across the hall. Unlike the rest of the house and its warm tones, the bathroom has light gray tiles, with white accents. It’s also huge; the size of your room back at your apartment.

You really would rather not think about that right now.

With a sigh, you find a clean white towel, as Mingyu had promised. You hop in to the shower, where the hot water beats the exhaustion out of you. You study yourself—the scrapes and bruises are still there, but there are two giant X’s across your front, where Seungcheol’s belt had done its damage. You hiss as the water touches the reddened, slightly bloody skin; it stings, but you’re thankful that you had slipped on the sweater last night. It was thick, and had blocked the majority of the blows.

You decide to not think about it. To ignore the red welts across your body as you reach for the shampoo bottle. You grin as you smell it; it smells spicy, like most men’s products do, but also mellowed out with a softer, subtler scent—honey, maybe? It somehow seems very Mingyu-esque.

But then you remember the man himself, and his dual identitles: the happy, relaxed, friendly one with a smile that put the sun to shame, and the cold, hard, calculating leader of a crime organization. Which one is the real Kim Mingyu?

You shiver, trying to picture him doing what Seungcheol had done. They’re in the same position, doing the same business; there’s no getting around the fact that Mingyu can and will be heartless when he needs to be. You’ve seen proof of that firsthand, the way he had sounded on the phone, the way he had acted when facing Seungcheol.

But he and Wonwoo had almost taken bullets for you.

The steam suddenly feels suffocating, and you hurry to rinse off and get out. You head back to your room and towel-dry your hair. You find that your phone has been placed on the bed, and you pick it up, scrolling through all your missed calls and messages.

Like Mingyu had said, you find that he has left five voice messages, each more urgent than the last, and seven texts. There’s a knock on your door just as you sigh and put your phone down. “It’s me,” Wonwoo’s voice says from the other side of the door.

You open it. Wonwoo stands in black shorts and a huge long-sleeved white shirt and with a pair of round glasses, looking sheepish. You don’t see any evidence of his wound—it’s probably hidden beneath his sleeves. He looks more like a normal boy than ever. “Uh, I just wanted to talk.”

You raise your eyebrows, opening the door wider for him to walk into the room. You close the door behind him and sit cross-legged on the bed. Wonwoo stands there awkwardly, and you tell him, “Sit.” You pat the space across from you.

“Are you okay? Your arm, I mean.”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

He settles on the bed, and there’s silence. You’re hyperaware that you are alone in a room with an attractive boy, sitting together on your bed. But at the same time, he’s Wonwoo, and he’s a friend, and no matter how upset you are at Mingyu, you can’t seem to apply those feelings to Wonwoo, too. There’s an air about him that feels so serene, so peaceful, you can’t help but feel at ease around him.

“What did you want to talk about?” you finally ask. “If this is about Mingyu—”

“Just hear me out. I get that you’re in shock and it’s definitely wrong that you had to find out this way,” Wonwoo says, mouth drawing into a line. “You’re rightfully upset and scared, and I’m not going to try to convince you to feel otherwise. But I just think you should give Mingyu a chance to explain himself.”

“What is there to explain?” you sigh. “I can try to pin the blame on him all I want, but ultimately I know he didn’t want this any more than I did.”

Wonwoo remains silent.

You continue, “But even though I know that…I can’t help remembering that you guys do this too.”

“Who told you that?” Wonwoo asks you curiously.

“I mean I figure that if you’re in the same line of business—”

Wonwoo cuts you off by laughing. He sounds so genuinely amused that you just sit there in confusion. “Oh, Y/N,” he says, wiping at a tear. “Sorry, but did you hear yourself? ‘Line of business,’ oh, God. That’s great.”

You frown at him.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I don’t know if you forgot, but we left. And you want to know why we left?”

“Why?”

“Because we were tired of doing it. We felt dirty, like we’re the scum of the earth. Which, I guess, we were.”

“And now?”

Wonwoo shifts, looking away from you. “We still are, but our methods aren’t so…torturous anymore.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“Anyway,” Wonwoo says, getting up, “I think you should just let Mingyu explain himself, explain us, and our situation. I don’t think you realize how much he’s been beating himself up.”

“It’s kind of hard to bring myself to look at him when every time I do, I remember all of their faces, and the pain—” You cut yourself off, because Wonwoo’s words sink in. And you realize: you could have been worse off; in fact, you could have been dead.

But you aren’t.

And Mingyu hadn’t wanted any of this, either.

“Do you know where he is?” you ask Wonwoo as he steps out of your room.

“No, but I can take you to his room.”

“Okay.”

You follow him out the door, closing it behind you. He leads you down the hallway and turns right, stopping at the first door. “I don’t know if he’s in there,” Wonwoo tells you, knocking on the door.

When no one answers, Wonwoo cracks open the door and peers in. “Yeah, he’s not in there. I’ll look around and tell him to come find you. Do you want to wait in here or back in your room?”

“I’ll wait here,” you answer, feeling both nervous and relieved at the same time. You enter his room, somehow scared that you’re violating his privacy. But then you remind yourself that he is, as he keeps reminding you, your soulmate, and you his. So you take a breath and enter his room.

It’s painted a cool blue, with the walls bare. He has a tall bookcase at one end of the room, stacked neatly full of books. There are clothes strewn everywhere, but all you can think is that it smells like him and it feels like you’re surrounded by him, even though you can tell by the faint scent of lemon wafting through the house that he’s probably not even in this hallway.

You step carefully over a pair of black pants and approach his desk slowly. It’s messy, with papers thrown every which way and a pile of wadded tissues where the desk touches the wall. You crinkle your nose—does he not have a trash can in here? Ignoring the mess, you lean down to study a picture he has framed in the corner of the desk.

You can recognize Mingyu right away, though he seems younger by a year or two. You guess the man, woman, and younger girl are his family, and you pick up the photo to study it closer. “That’s my family,” Mingyu says from directly behind you, and you jump. You hadn’t even sensed him coming in—the lingering smell of him in the room must have masked his presence because you were so focused on studying Mingyu’s family members.

You set the frame back down gently and turn to face him. You look up at him, and you see that he’s smiling down at you, but it’s a small smile. He’s changed into jeans and a black t-shirt, but his clothes are disheveled and hair a mess. And with the way his eyes are dim, almost without a spark of life, you can only describe Mingyu as _crushed_.

“Hi,” you say, reaching your arms behind you to grab onto the desk. Because if you don’t, you’re scared they might just find their way around Mingyu instead.

“Hi,” he says, and he bites his lip, looking down at his feet.

“Are you…” you trail off, gesturing vaguely at his left side.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It looks worse than it actually is,” he answers.

There’s a minute of silence as you both figure out where to go from there.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu blurts out. “I know I’ve already said it, but no matter how many times I tell you I’m sorry, I don’t think it’ll be enough.”

“I know you are,” you tell him, and you watch in fascination as your hand, almost of its own volition, reaches up and brushes his bangs out of his eyes. His eyes never leave yours, and you feel a sudden tension, and you realize that this man is seconds away from breaking and shattering in front of you. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is,” he says miserably. “They wanted to use you to get to me. They threatened to chop you up into pieces—” His voice breaks and he looks away, moving his face away from your hand.

You would be lying if you said you don’t blame him, but—“I’m okay. I’m okay now,” you say, and you use both hands to force him to look at you again. His cheeks feel wet. “You got me out.”

“I did, but—” He takes a shuddering breath, and his arms wrap around you. “I…did,” he repeats hesitantly.

“Yes. You did,” you assure him. “So thank you. And…I’m sorry, too.”

His eyes widen. “What for?”

You hesitantly put your hand against the area where you’d seen the blood. He flinches. “You got hurt.”

“I’m fine,” he says. Without warning, Mingyu crushes you against him, and his arms tighten around you as he whispers into your hair, “I was so worried. I didn’t know what to think.”

You pull your hands away from his face and wrap your arms around him instead. You sigh and pull away from him a bit. “I’m okay. Can you just…answer some of my questions?”

“If I can.”

“Who’s Eri?” The name has suddenly popped up in your mind from MIngyu’s earlier conversation with Seungcheol.

“Oh. I had a puppy named Eri. I adored her, but during one of Seungcheol’s tantrums he, ah…killed her.” You hear the sadness in his voice.

“That’s…why would he?”

Mingyu shrugs.

You chew on your lower lip, unsure whether to ask your next question. But curiosity gets the better of you as you blurt, “Is it true? What Seungcheol said about you not needing to know a girl for two minutes before…” You trail off, unable to look at him.

“No,” Mingyu says darkly. But he sounds amused, and when you sneak a look at him, sure enough, he’s grinning at you. “But that got to you, didn’t it?”

There’s a moment of silence as you mull over his answers; even though you’re curious about what exactly it is that Mingyu does, you’re not sure you want to know. So you don’t ask, and when Mingyu takes your hand and laces his fingers through yours, you just look down at your intertwined hands.

“You know, aside from Jeonghan, it actually wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.”

He remains silent, waiting for you to continue.

You shrug. “It was a decent room and there were clean clothes.”

“They made you change your clothes?” Mingyu asks, stiffening. “In front of them?”

“No, no—there was just a closet full of clean sweaters and stuff. So that’s what I was wearing when you found me.”

“Hmm. I don’t like the idea of you wearing someone else’s clothes.”

“So what if I wear yours?” you ask with a grin.

Mingyu looks at you, raising an eyebrow. And then he smirks. “Well. You’re always welcome to my closet. Preferably under my supervision.”

You smack his chest, and he lets go of you, laughing. He straightens up and starts kicking the stray clothes around his room into a small pile in the corner. “Sorry it’s so messy in here,” he says as he works. “I wasn’t in my best state of mind.”

“I’ll say. What are all those tissues doing there? Was throwing them out too much effort or something?”

“Yeah,” he replies cheerily, grabbing the pile of them in his hands. You stare in disgust as he offers the pile to you with a grin. “Want to share germs?”

“No!”

He laughs and walks into the adjoining bathroom that you hadn’t even realized was there, throwing the used tissues into a trash can. “There,” he pronounces, satisfied.

He starts to head back into the room, but you protest. “You are not touching me with hands that touched your used tissues.”

He raises his eyebrows again, but complies, washing his hands with soap as you hover over him. “Who said I was going to touch you?” he asks, flicking water at you as he turns off the sink.

Your cheeks flame, but you huff at him. “You’re going to be touching your stuff, and I’m going to be touching your stuff, and that means I’ll be touching your nasty germs.”

“What _stuff_ , exactly, are we talking about here?” he whispers directly into your ear. He puts his face right next to yours and brushes his hair out of his eyes, blinking at you innocently.

You open your mouth, but before you can say anything, Mingyu starts tickling you. You screech and jump away from him, covering your waist before barreling towards him to attack, careful to avoid his left side.

Five minutes later, you and Mingyu are both sprawled on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, breathing hard.

There are two sharp knocks against Mingyu’s closed door, and a second later, Wonwoo’s head pokes in. His eyes widen at the state of the two of you, and you sit up hastily. “Am I interrupting something?” Wonwoo asks, eyes darting between you and Mingyu, brows raised.

“Obviously,” Mingyu drawls, sitting up, just as you say, “No.”

“I see,” Wonwoo says, pushing up his glasses. “Anyway, dinner’s ready.”

He pulls his head out of the room and closes the door with a soft click behind him. “Let’s go eat,” Mingyu says, getting up.

He waits as you slide off the bed, and takes your hand as he leads you out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen. “We have a dining room,” Mingyu explains, “but seeing how it’s just Wonwoo and me here, it’s pretty useless. We usually just eat in the kitchen.”

Sure enough, Wonwoo is sitting at the island in the middle of the kitchen, along with three steaming plates of spaghetti. Wonwoo looks up from his phone and rolls his eyes as he spots your hand in Mingyu’s. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s eat.”

“Did you make this?” you ask Wonwoo, seating yourself across from him.

Mingyu sits next to you. “Yeah,” he answers for Wonwoo. “Today is his turn to cook.”

“It’s good!” you say enthusiastically as you eat a mouthful. And then you realize that talking while eating is rude, and that Mingyu and Wonwoo are both staring at you with slightly horrified expressions. “Sorry,” you mumble.

Mingyu starts laughing so hard that he coughs, and Wonwoo reaches over to pound his back, shooting you a grin. “And here we were worried about needing to use proper dining etiquette from now on,” Wonwoo says to Mingyu.

You roll your eyes, swirling your fork in the spaghetti as Mingyu’s laughs die down and Wonwoo starts eating. “It’s not like you both haven’t eaten with me before,” you grumble.

“That’s true,” Wonwoo muses.

“But you ate really…properly,” Mingyu adds.

“We ate pizza, Mingyu. How properly could I have eaten?”

Mingyu snorts and shoves spaghetti into his mouth, all reservations about eating seemingly gone. He and Wonwoo tease each other, and you find yourself entirely at ease, laughing constantly. Their cheerfulness is contagious, and watching them banter shows you just how close these two are. It somehow warms your heart.

After dinner, you help with the dishes, even though Mingyu insists that it’s his turn and that you can go rest. But the work is efficient, with Mingyu washing and you drying, and the two of you are done in no time.

Mingyu walks you back to your room, but just as he’s about to walk away, you stop him. “Can I get a book to read from your room?” you ask, seeing how your room is void of books. “I like to read before I sleep.”

“Yeah, of course,” Mingyu says, and you follow him, closing the door to your room behind you.

You scan his bookshelf as he rummages in his drawers. “I’m going to go shower,” he tells you. “But go ahead and take whatever book you like.”

“Okay.”

You hear the door to the bathroom clicking shut, and then the sound of the showerhead. Your thoughts stray to Mingyu, in that bathroom…and you shake your head, forcing yourself to go back to looking at books. You find a few interesting titles and carry them back to your room, where you settle onto the bed—your pillows and blankets are all peach-colored and smell like strawberries, you realize—and begin reading.

You lose track of time, as you always do when you’re engrossed in a book, but you hear a knock at your door. “It’s me,” Mingyu says from the other side.

“You can come in,” you say, setting the book down beside you.

Mingyu’s hair is still damp from his shower, and he’s dressed in a gray shirt and navy blue shorts. He walks into the room. “I was wondering if you, uh, wanted to come to my room.”

You feel your heartbeat quickening, and your cheeks are on fire again. Mingyu seems to realize the implications of his words too, because he hastily adds, “No, no, I mean—not like that. I just wanted to sleep. With you. I mean, wait, not like that—shit.” He groans and puts his face in his hands. “This is coming out all wrong,” he says, taking his hands away from his face. “I mean literally just sleep. I won’t even touch you. I just…wanted reassurance that you’re here.”

You can’t help but smile at the sight of Kim Mingyu, who had seemed so put together just this morning, suddenly a flustered mess in front of you. “Okay,” you tell him, taking the book you’re reading and stacking the rest on the nightstand.

“Okay?” he repeats, looking as if he hadn’t expected you to agree.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” he confirms putting an arm around your waist. This time, you walk side by side to his room, where you see that he has cleaned up most of the mess.

You climb into one side of the bed, suddenly shy and very aware that it’s just you and Mingyu…in his room. On his bed.

You switch on his lamp just as he turns off the light. He climbs into the other side of the bed, leaving a healthy amount of space between you, as he had promised. You try to concentrate on the story again, but you can’t seem to absorb the words on the page. After reading the same sentence for the tenth time, you sigh and decide to give up. You put the book on the nightstand next to your head and switch off the lamp, pulling the covers up and trying to find a comfortable position.

“How do you expect me to sleep if you keep moving like that?” Mingyu mumbles next to you, but there’s no annoyance in his voice.

_How do you expect me to just sleep next to you like this?_ “Sorry.”

He takes a long breath. “I know I said I wouldn’t touch you, and you can say no, but…can I hug you?”

“Um.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, but it comes out anyway.

“Sorry. Forget I asked,” he mumbles, and you feel a thump right next to you. You flinch.

When you look over, you see that Mingyu has pulled a giant bear from somewhere—it’s so big that you can’t even see Mingyu on the other side of the bed. “What is this?” you ask, amused.

“So you can forget I’m here,” he answers, but then his arm comes around the neck. “But I also sleep with this guy, so.”

“Kim Mingyu,” you say, snickering. “You sleep with a giant teddy bear?”

“Why not?” he retorts, sounding slightly offended.

“I just never pictured you to be the type.”

“Well,” he says, lifting the bear with the arm that’s holding it and throwing it on the ground next to the bed. You see the silhouette of his arm muscles, and you blush. You’re grateful for the darkness. You realize that he’s so close to you, you could scoot one more inch and be touching him. Without the bear, his face is so close to yours, and his eyes twinkle with the light reflected from the window. “You could always be his replacement.”

But before you can even answer him, his smile vanishes and he clears his throat. The bear comes back. “Sorry. Nevermind. Good night.”

Feeling bold and reckless, you grab the bear with both hands and throw it over Mingyu, to the floor. “Yeesh,” he comments dryly, following your movements. “What did Mr. Bear do to you?”

You move closer to Mingyu and look him straight in the eye. “He stole my spot,” you say with a smile, suddenly feeling shy again.

Mingyu grins at you and drapes an arm around you, pulling you in a little closer. “Mr. Bear,” he admonishes, clucking his tongue. “He can stay on the floor for a while.”  
This close, you breathe him in—and you realize, with pure, genuine happiness, that you only smell the cool lemon scent. The burnt undercurrent is gone; maybe you discovering his secret, and accepting it, had changed something.

“He can stay on the floor forever, for all I care.”

Mingyu chuckles. “Jealous, are we?”

“Please. I would win over him any day,” you scoff, and Mingyu laughs again. You relax against his warmth, his soft breathing, the way his hand plays with the ends of your hair. Your heartbeat slows and matches the rise and fall of his chest. 

Maybe you are still unsure about how you feel towards Mingyu. But you know that he’s a good person, and he doesn’t enjoy hurting others. In fact, if what Wonwoo has told you is true, then he doesn’t hurt people at all.

But you can dwell on that tomorrow. Right now, lying next to him, you just want to forget. “Good night, Mingyu.”

“Good night, Y/N.”


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually this isn't so much an epilogue as wrapping up some parts i left hanging???

### Untold Tales

Seungkwan  
He takes a shaky breath as he closes the door behind him. He sure as hell hopes Y/N believes him, because he'd told her the truth.

Seungkwan looks down at his watch--twenty-five minutes till the rendezvous with Mingyu.

He walks casually downstairs. After all, he needs a cup of water from the kitchen, right? Right. And then some nice fresh air outside, along with helping out a traitor. Mingyu had better not get caught, or Seungkwan is going to get skinned alive. Possibly twice.

Seungkwan sighs. If only he'd had the courage to up and go with Mingyu and Wonwoo back then--

"What are you doing down here?" a voice asks, and Seungkwan curses inwardly as he turns around to face the speaker.

Yoon Jeonghan lounges lazily on the couch in the living room, looking curiously at Seungkwan with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm thirsty. I'm going to get water," Seungkwan replies with a tight smile and veering left to the kitchen.

A detour. That's all this is.

And then Jeonghan--God damn his soul to hell--will leave, and Seungkwan will go about his business. No problem.

Tapping his foot impatiently as he gulps down several mouthfuls of water, he looks down at his watch again. Twenty minutes.

"How thirsty are you that you're just going to stand in the kitchen drinking your water?" Jeonghan's voice calls out, and Seungkwan hears the TV being turned on. "Come watch TV with me."

The  _bastard_. "I don't watch TV," Seungkwan answers with a scowl, but walks out to the living room anyway. He knows Jeonghan and Seungcheol are already suspicious of him--he can hear them talking whenever they think he can't see them. No doubt, Jeonghan is on guard duty tonight.

"Then sit, and we can reminisce about old times," Jeonghan replies with such a large grin that Seungkwan knows they'll be doing more than  _reminiscing_ about their long, rocky history.

"I'd rather not," Seungkwan scoffs, and heads back upstairs. Jeonghan has to leave sometime, right?

Back in his room on the second floor, Seungkwan looks at his watch again. Five minutes left. He can't very well  _jump_ out the window, can he? Even if he doesn't break his neck, there's no way to get back in.

He sighs and kicks at a chair in frustration. Get caught by Jeonghan, and he's in for it. Stay inside, and the next time he sees Mingyu, he's still in for it.

When five minutes pass and Seungkwan realizes Jeonghan is still there in the living room, he's too scared and too stupid to think of a way to distract Jeonghan without drawing suspicion. He pulls out his phone, and sends a single text before he closes his eyes, accepting the fact that he's never going to be able to make a newer, better life for himself the way Mingyu has.

_Sorry, I can't make it._

 

Jihoon (and Jiwoo)

Despite the fact that Jihoon is friends with Wonwoo, and has been for a while now, he can't seem to figure the guy out. Jihoon knows that Wonwoo is a good person, that he's hard-working and diligent in his studies, that he's kind and considerate.

But he can't quite voice what it is that seems rather.... _off_ about the guy.

So when Jiwoo tells him that her friend Y/N's soulmate is  _Wonwoo_ , of all people, he's surprised and more than a little wary. But if it's true, then he guesses the situation can't be helped, and he hopes to God that his suspicions are unfounded and that Y/N won't get hurt, because he thinks of Y/N like a little sister.

If Wonwoo ends up hurting her, then soulmate or not, he's going to have Jihoon to answer to.

-

Jihoon is secretly relieved when Jiwoo tells him Wonwoo isn't Y/N's soulmate after all. Y/N is such a good person that even though Wonwoo is Jihoon's friend, and generally stays out of trouble, Jihoon would rather see her with someone as genuine and open as she is.

Wonwoo has secrets, and Jihoon knows it.

What he doesn't know is if he wants to find out what those secrets are.

Sometimes when he invites Wonwoo and a few friends over, Wonwoo always leaves at ungodly hours. One time, when Jihoon suddenly woke up coughing and went to get a glass of water in the kitchen, he heard the buzzing of a vibrating phone. He saw as Wonwoo picked up--at two in the morning--slouchy groggy-voiced and then suddenly straightened up and whispered into the phone urgently. Without a word--he probably hadn't seen Jihoon awake in the kitchen--he'd grabbed his jacket and left.

The next day, when Jihoon had asked about where Wonwoo disappeared off to in the middle of the night, he'd said that his mom had called him home because his dad had suddenly showed up, drunk and screaming.

Neither of them mentioned the fact that Wonwoo had left home years ago and never contacted his parents.

So when Jiwoo grumbles to Jihoon that Y/N didn't show up to class and wouldn't pick up her calls either, Jihoon worries. Against his better judgment, he calls Wonwoo, because whatever secrets the guy keeps, Jihoon knows that Wonwoo is still a good person at heart and that he does care for Y/N.

"Hello?" Wonwoo picks up on the third ring.

"Hey," Jihoon greets him. "Have you seen Y/N today?"

"No," Wonwoo answers slowly. "Why?"

"Oh, no. I was just wondering."

"Did something happen?" Wonwoo presses.

Jihoon sighs and rubs his forehead. He can trust Wonwoo; it's why he'd called the guy in the first place. "Jiwoo just told me she didn't come to class, and she isn't picking up her phone. So I was just worried, but I don't know if I should be." He laughs nervously. "It's just not like her to skip class."

"Okay. I'll ask around and see if anyone saw her today. Thanks for letting me know."

"I wasn't asking you to--" Jihoon starts, but Wonwoo ends the call.

Two hours later, Wonwoo calls him back. "I found her. I think we'll be gone for a few days, but we're fine. Don't worry," he says curtly, but before Jihoon can ask any questions, Wonwoo hangs up again.

 _Where are you? Why aren't you coming back if you found her already?_ Jihoon texts furiously. If Wonwoo tries anything on her...

_She was with a friend of mine_

Jihoon feels like he's going to scream.  _Okay, but do you realize school is still going on??_

It takes a few minutes for Wonwoo to answer.  _That friend happens to be her soulmate._

_I don't care! Bring her back here!_

_Jihoon...has anyone told you you're a tad bit overprotective?_

_Just get her back here safely, Wonwoo. Exams are coming up soon. She can do whatever she wants with the guy /here/_

_I can't guarantee anything. But I'll try_

_That's all I'm asking you to do._ With a sigh, Jihoon puts his phone down and calls out to Jiwoo that Wonwoo has found Y/N.


End file.
